& a little off the top

It’s been a while since I’ve shown up here, so you might not have seen Squatch lately*. After a long period at the beginning where we wondered if he was ever going to get hair, he looked like this:

He's quite a bit bigger than you might've imagined. Then again, he's called "Squatch," so maybe not.

He’s quite a bit bigger than you might’ve imagined. Then again, he’s called “Squatch,” so maybe not.

He’s not exactly high and tight, but as far as I was concerned, his hair looked fine. He could even stand to let it grow some more and I wouldn’t have minded. Karli, on the other hand, had started making grumblings about a haircut a month or so ago.

*Of course, that would change if you became a fan of my Facebook page. Give in. You know you wanna.

I fought it as long as I could. I made my arguments, presented my case, and tried to give his hair a stay of execution. However, it has been made clear to me that when you cut your own hair, your opinions on others’ hairstyles loses almost all currency. Who knew?

This past weekend, she made good on her threats. We headed on down to the place Karli gets her hair cut*, since the lady who does that called dibs on Felix’s first one when the time came. Something I thought wouldn’t be coming till sometime next year, but I’ve been wrong before**.

*Because apparently real people pay other people to cut their hair. Again, who knew?
**See: “blogging, time management in”

"You're gonna do what to my hair now?"

“You’re gonna do what to my hair now?”

TheCutI’d been warned about baby’s first haircut before. People said there was going to be crying. And fighting. Possibly some restraining would need to be involved. And the kid wouldn’t react well, either.

Ba-dum-bum!

We girded ourselves for the screaming, wriggling ball of angry that would undoubtedly come once the scissors came out. Karli sat in the chair with him and was ready to hold tight to him if need be. I got the camera ready for what would surely be some blackmail-worthy photos as he gets older.

And nothin’. FREAKIN’ NOTHIN’! He was good. He wiggled a little bit, but otherwise was about as calm as a 15-month-old kid can be. He skipped his nap, so maybe there wasn’t any fight left in him. Or maybe he was just used to the place since we’d been there with his mom for her haircuts before. Or maybe Andrea (the haircutter lady) was just that good. For whatever reason, it was nothing like what we had prepared ourselves for.

And the finished product?

Tiger Beat, here I come.

Tiger Beat, here I come.

You may now commence saying how much he looks like a little boy instead of a baby. Because holy shit, he looks like a little boy!

Where’d my baby go?