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November 21, 2014

Mommy is Sorry.

My cute little long haired bum child
I’m a bad girl. Though I made a big time declaration that I was going to cut my son’s hobo-like locks, let’s be real: that was practically a year ago and I just couldn’t do it- I love his bummy hair! Even if it’s a knotted mop…even if it’s constantly bothering him…even if he hides food in it. Love is blind, what can I say? It wasn’t until people began regularly referring to my son as a girl that I started thinking he might need a trim. Nothing dramatic, just a little length off the back so strangers would stop telling me how beautiful my daughter is. 

I began searching for a kids’ salon but chickened out after reading one too many scary Yelp reviews featuring jagged cow-licked photos from disgruntled customers. Having waited nearly 2 years to trim Dylan’s locks, I couldn’t risk a bad experience. So I did what any over-confident mother would do, I decided to cut Dylan’s hair myself. Because, uhm, hello- I’m his mom. I can do anything. But there’s a problem (and it isn’t that I have zero stylist skills or experience), it’s my husband. 

Though I’m sure there are a lot of men in the world without two cents to spare when it comes to their children’s hair (part one of my argument), that’s not my guy. My husband is the kind of dad that examines the outfits I pick out for Dylan, shakes his head, and picks out something else…then irons it. So I spent a couple of weeks campaigning, stating that it would grow back (part two); that if I messed up, I’d take him for a real cut (part three); and finally, who was he to deny me the right to cut my own son’s hair, anyway? (The closer) All my efforts eventually paid off and I was given the Zepeda stamp of approval to move forward with Operation Snippety Snip. What a disaster. 

It started out great. Dylan sat stilly watching monster trucks on my phone as I combed through his head making little cuts to his precious curls. And when I was finished, I whipped out my blow dryer and dried his wet shaggy mop. That’s when I realized what I had done: I gave my son a first class bob. And it would’ve looked great….on an old woman. So let’s classify this under “never again,” “mom fail,” and “wtf,” cut my losses (literally) and bank on the fact that hair grows back. My love for Dylan may run deep but I can confirm that it is no longer blind. At all. Stupid retracting curls.  

Silver Lining: Though it was not my intention to butcher Dylan's hair for a blog post (evil laugh), it does make for great content..lol...

My bad...
You know it's bad when the blur doesn't help...