My child has discovered her hair. You remember her hair.
She has a classmate who has her hair “done” everyday at school. This is a moment where I realize we are somehow lagging behind the parents of the girly-girls. The darlings with rosy pink light up shoes, who chirp good morning and adjust their lastest fascinators.
I am only a teensy bit kidding.
We send RR off to school in a haze of milk, curls and hysteria and pick up a tiny princess in pigtails. Her teacher works some magic on her that transforms her from a tiny gremlin into a little girl with green eyes and dimples. I didn’t even know we had one of those.
We got to this point without even meaning to (and believe me, this is mostly how our lives go most of the time) when her favorite teacher mentioned that when the other little girls have their hair done, RR grasps her Einstein-like tendrils and says “Hair?”
Well who can deny that?
So we brought in a card of very sedate hairbands and almost everyday we bring home a child who has multiple pigtails in her hair. Sometimes two, sometimes eight. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to pigtails, obviously. And always, always, the hairbands match each other and her outfit. I had no idea that was even possible. And always, she is smiling and patting her hair so that we know the minute we see her that her teacher has done her hair. Don’t worry baby, we’re already blinded by the cute.