My Baby's First Haircut

On an unassuming Tuesday afternoon in late December, I cried at the hair salon. It was a day that took years in the making.  It was a day that seriously put me at a loss for words.

My son got a haircut at a hair salon.

Let's rewind to 2010, when he was 2 years old. I took him to get a haircut at one of those chain places. He kicked the poor girl.  He cried and screamed so loud that patrons left.  And it was so long ago, I think he may have gotten nicked with the scissors on his ear.  But I could be making that up.

Regardless, he refused to get his hair cut.  Eventually I was able to cut his hair at home.  

He would say "only 25 cuts" and would count each time I snipped.  I told my Mom, "I just don't want him to look like an a-hole."  I didn't trust my styling expertise.  But I tried, and whenever his hair got too long, we would sit down on the kitchen floor, mirror in front of us, and would pray it would come out OK.  

And then came in Jenn.  OUR hairdresser.  

Jenn is a friend of mine.  She has her own little shop in at a hairdresser co-op place.  She has her own room...with a door that can shut.  I've been going to her for a few years.  Jonathan has come with me on occasion.  So he saw Jenn in action. 

When I told Jenn that Jonathan would not get his haircut at a salon, she accepted it as a challenge.  She gave me pointers on how to cut his hair at home.  We made "appointments" to just visit her and try to sit in her chair.  She told me, "He can come here 100 times and sit in the chair.  I don't care.  It will happen one day."

For some reason, I recently stopped cutting his hair.  The last time I cut it, it was August, right before school started.  So it was long.  REAL long.  

Taken a few days ago.  Long.  Real long.

Since Jonathan still loves to watch pre-school TV, there are lots of episodes of his favorite shows with characters receiving haircuts. Shows like Handy Manny, Dora, Bubble Guppies, Team Umizoomi.  And for some reason, they were on a lot this week.  

We made an appointment.  We had no expectations. 

I told him if he let Jenn cut his hair, we could go get a doughnut.  

Bribery?  

Positive reinforcement?  

Who cares.  It worked.  

Sitting

Cutting

Jenn was AMAZING.  Patient.  Kind.  Listened to Jonathan and did everything to make him comfortable.  He even chatted it up with her!  It was amazing to watch.  

And then I realized, he was not such a little boy anymore.  He was growing up. His hair was shorter.  He had confidence to let someone do something that was scary to him.  He was trying.  

That's when I cried.  I also realized that this haircut meant more to me then his very first one when he was a baby. 

TA DAH!!!

"I have short hair!"

But ever the comedian, Jonathan asked about getting some hair color.  And Jenn made it happen.  (Don't worry.  It washes out).  

Jonathan has agreed to go again.  No more "a-hole haircut from Mom" for him.  He is now a big boy.

And I cannot thank my dear friend Jenn enough for accepting a challenge and making it happen.  She is not only OUR hairdresser.  She is OUR friend.

PS.  You can visit Jenn's at her J.Erin Designs website here!

Love and Luck: Why I Feel Fine After This Ectopic Pregnancy

“You’re pregnant.”

Those were the words the ER nurse told me on May 11^th, as I lay in the hospital bed.  My husband took me to the ER two hours prior because I was in so much pain. 

“Pregnant?  I don’t understand?  How is that possible?”

Mike looked at me.  I burst into tears.  Why couldn’t this be easy?

We’ve never been the couple that got pregnant at the snap of the fingers.  We have struggled.  We’ve been struggling for a long time.  I had all but given up.

But now. A glimmer of hope.  But it didn’t feel right.  After all, I was in the emergency room.

I went to the ER because of abdominal pain.  Something hadn’t been right for about a week.  But that day, I couldn’t stand.  I couldn’t use the bathroom.  Turns out my bladder was too full.  My body was calling out S.O.S!

We went home that day, with the news that I was pregnant.  I was to go to my Doctor on Monday to see if my hormone levels increased the way they needed to.  To see if there was a viable pregnancy in there. 

“If all goes well, and I hope it does…”  We said that the next day.  It was Mother’s Day. 

Seven years prior, before Jonathan, we celebrated Mother’s Day for the first time.  I was pregnant.  It took us nine months to get to that point where there were two blue lines on the test.  We told our Mothers.  We were excited at the possibilities of actually being parents.  That ended on Memorial Day when I was rushed to the Operating Room.  The pregnancy was in my tube.  Ectopic.  There was nothing they could do but get it out. 

Five months later, we were pregnant with Jonathan.  We remained cautiously optimistic until we actually saw him on the ultrasound.  We struggled and now we had been rewarded with this gift.

After Jonathan was born, I thought we could have more.  We had always wanted two kids.  Birth control went out the window while my four month old slept in his crib.  My body would be ready, I thought.

And then nothing.  No more blue lines on the test. 

I didn’t want fertility to become a member of our family.  So we were off and on.  Happy to keep trying, ambivalent if it didn’t happen.  Mike and I didn’t want anything invasive.  We had our boy.  We didn’t want to be greedy or press our luck.  If it happened, it happened. 

It didn’t happen.

I shelved that dream.  And I was actually OK with it.

At the doctor’s office on Monday, I went alone.  Mike had to pick up Jonathan at school.  Life needed to keep going. 

There was no life inside me.  Nothing.  It was Ectopic again. My second Ectopic Pregnancy.

No need to rush to surgery this time.  We found out pretty early.  So they treated me with shots.  Shots of chemo, but shots none the less.  This would work.  And in a week, I would come back, things would be working the way they should, and we can get on with our lives. 

I went back the following week.  It was still there.  My levels didn’t go down enough.  I needed another shot.  Why couldn’t my body cooperate?  Why couldn’t this be over?

By Wednesday morning, almost two weeks after getting the news of this pregnancy, I was still in pain.  I didn’t feel right.  Mike took me to the ER that morning.  My Doctor, Mike and I decided, we needed to get this done.  The shots were a great effort, but the tube needed to come out. 

It was the same tube that gave me trouble last time. 

If we took it out, I wouldn‘t ever need to worry about it causing this problem again.  I had a choice.  And I chose to move forward. 

By then, the reality of an actual baby was gone.  It didn’t seem real to me.  I had mourned for two weeks prior.  I had a five year old at home who was scared because Mommy didn’t feel good. 

And so people stepped forward to care for us.  Wonderful people changed their plans to help keep Jonathan’s routine normal while Mommy was in the hospital.  They picked him up from school.  They stayed while he had therapy.  They made him dinner.  They put him to bed.  They made us dinner.  They sent flowers.  They held Mike’s hand.  They held my hand.  They sent love and light and good wishes. 

And Jonathan knew Mommy was OK.  The Doctors made Mommy better. 

All of this made me remember what a precious gift life is.  What a miracle it is to create life.  That my five year old, despite his struggles, his Autism, is the most amazing and special gift I have ever received

Yes, I feel like my body failed me.  And we discovered why we’ve had so many struggles over the years to have a baby.  Turns out there was more going on inside me than I knew.  And I mourn that I can’t give my husband another child…at least naturally. 

But Jonathan.  Wow.  Mike and I are the luckiest.