Diva does not like having her hair washed: “No, Mummy! Don’t wash my hair! I don’t like it, Mummy! STOP IT! AHHH!”
She also refuses to let me trim her fringe: “No, Mummy! Don’t cut my hair! I don’t like it, Mummy! STOP IT! AHHH!”
She doesn’t even like it when I try and brush her hair, so it’s best to take cover whenever I try and put her hair in a ponytail or bunches: “No, Mummy! Don’t brush my hair! I no want bunches! I don’t like it, Mummy! STOP IT! This is cruel and inhumane and if you continue to torture me thus I will be forced to seek outside help!” (She didn’t say that last bit but I know she was thinking it).
You get the idea.
Anyway, yesterday I decided to take her to the hairdressers in the hope that they might be able to help. Due to her resistance to let me trim her fringe, we’ve decided to let it grow out and it’s starting to look a bit of a mess. Not that she minds. Obviously I was feeling a little bit apprehensive about making this trip. It’s one thing to have meltdowns in the privacy of our own home but another thing to have them in front of the tutting public. I would have to be prepared.
For two days Diva and I discussed the hairdressers and what fun it would be to go and have a haircut. We talked about how pretty she would look; how much chocolate she would eat; how many points she would climb up the mountain. On the actual day of the haircut we went in to town early and bought a comic and a packet of chocolate buttons in preparation. She even wanted to go early (mainly so she could get the chocolate).
As we were early there was a brief wait while another lady had her hair cut. This lady’s friend came and sat down beside us. Diva immediately looked at this lady suspiciously and declared, “I’m next!” Apparently we’ve already taught her the British system of queuing.
Once it was her turn, I waited, bribery bag at the ready, while Diva was placed on a chair and a gown was wrapped around her. Nothing. Her hair was sprayed and the cutting began. Nothing. The cut was finished and the hair dryer came out. She briefly complained about the heat, but then…nothing. I was so surprised, I didn’t even realise it was over. She’d actually enjoyed it! I quickly paid and bundled the children back up to re-enter the cold. I couldn’t believe how well it had gone. Bruiser was happily tucked in to the buggy and Diva was happily munching on her well earned chocolate buttons.
That’s when I got cocky.
“Let’s go and do a bit of shopping,” I said.
By the time I had picked up three things in the supermarket, Bruiser was screaming and Diva was demanding more chocolate. I whisked through the checkout and headed back to the car. My ten minute drive home was hellish. Bruiser continued to scream and Diva chanted (loudly), “I want my taggie!”, all the way home.
It was definitely a lesson to quit while you’re ahead and a lesson to employ an attractive man to come and do Diva’s hair every day. Hubby? You’re up.
I’m hoping that last comment gets me lots of brownie points for Valentine’s Day.