A Mommy Story

Cordy has beautiful hair.

She has hair that movie stars would kill to have. Shimmery, fine golden strands, and a mighty-thick head of them. It’s nearly impossible to find her scalp under all of that hair. Some hairs curl, some are straight, but all of them work together to create a lot of body.

And a lot of knots. As in, her hair can be perfectly combed and all she has to do is turn her head to the side to look at something and suddenly it’s tangled again. Laying down at night leads to matted hair, and even putting it in a braid overnight still results in knots. It seems to have an affinity to tangle itself without the slightest provocation.

After trying to get a wide-tooth comb through Cordy’s hair while she screamed, cried and fought me last week (a regular occurrence around our house), I decided that the time had come: we were paying a visit to a hair salon.

At nearly seven years old, Cordy has yet to visit any professional to have her hair cut. When she was younger she wouldn’t let anyone touch her gorgeous curls without a lot of screaming. It took nearly a year for her preschool teacher to let her put her hair in a ponytail. I combed her hair after a bath only by first putting on a favorite TV show to distract her, and even then she’d still cry and fight me. When I tried to cut it, she screamed that cutting her hair was hurting her. (And with her sensory issues, it probably was.)

We got by with me providing the occasional sneaky trim until last week, when I couldn’t take it anymore. Cordy’s hair is thick and needs the hands of a professional. It needs to be shorter and with layers in it to lighten the weight. This isn’t an issue of finding the right comb or the right conditioner or detangling spray – we’ve tried many and nothing works well. Until she’s able to comb her own hair or let me comb it without crying at the slightest tug, it has to be shorter and easier to manage.

So I made an appointment for Cordy on Saturday at a local salon focused on kids. I was worried that she’d have a meltdown or lash out at the stylist, but hoped she could hold it together enough to let them get a basic cut in. We washed and combed her hair right before we went in the hopes that it would have few(er) tangles in it when the stylist started combing it.

(And of course, Mira asked to have her hair cut, too. She wasn’t about to miss out on a little pampering.)

Here they were before going inside:

Cordy was up first, and asked to sit on Clifford instead of in a big-kid chair. Hey, if it helps her cope she can sit on whatever she wants, right? I warned the stylist about her sensitive head, although she still was a little more rough than Cordy liked. I stood next to Cordy and held her hand, soothing her when she started to get worked up. She spent most of her time watching Backyardigans, but occasionally the hair tugging would get to be too much and she’d get upset and beg to leave. I’d calm her down, and then she’d get upset again – repeat X too many times to count.

Mira? Oh, she did fine. The worst part for her was that she wasn’t able to watch herself in the mirror while getting her hair cut. Vain little creature.

Finally they were both done. Mira had a cute curly bob that evened out the area where she tried to cut her own hair last year. And Cordy had a shorter, layered cut that will (hopefully) result in fewer tangles and feel a little cooler on her head.

We could have gone shorter, but I don’t know if Cordy would have tolerated another minute of it. So it’s good for now, and we’ll re-evaluate in the months ahead if we’ll attempt this again anytime soon.

Or maybe I’ll just improve my hair-cutting skills.