Hair Raising

I knew it would come one day.  When I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I looked forward to this day with great anticipation.

"Can I do your hair, Mommy?"

Ahhh, music to my ears.  I love having my hair played with.  Shaun and I have a compromise.  I'll watch endless games of baseball with him if he'll let me put my head on his leg and play with my hair. 

(I'm not sure he's figured out that I actually like baseball and sometimes I'll even watch it when he's not around.  Shhh, don't tell).

Anyway, when Bean asked me that the other day, it was all I could do not to trip over the laundry on the bathroom floor to get her a hair brush.  (No, not this hairbrush...  that one went to trash land).

I sat down on the couch with C in my lap to nurse and she climbed up behind us.  She gently moved her hand over my head and sang me a little song.  (A nice touch...  hair dressers might want to pick that one up.  Then again, maybe not).

Then she said, "Mommy...  I have to pick your hair up and look for something."

Um, ok...  "What are you looking for?"

"YOUR HEAD!  Now, hold still please."

And it started to get a little crazy at that point.

"OUCH!  Bean!  You're pulling my hair!" 

"Mommy, I have to find your head.  I can't see it.  You need it!"

(Little does she know, I lost it long ago).

She continued pulling my hair up towards the ceiling, a bit more gently at this point. 

Then she got the hairbrush.

"OOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!  What are you doing?"

"Brushing your hair!  Ohhh, Mommy!  You look so beautiful!"

I showed her how to put the brush against my head gently instead of beating me with it like she was trying to club a caveman.

She peacefully continued on for a few minutes and then apparently got inspired.

"EEEEEEEEEK!  WHAT THE HECK!  AHHHHHHHH!!!"  My head was on fire. 

C pulled away from me and burst into tears.  Bean fell over my shoulder and landed on the couch behind me.

"MOMMY!  I need to fix you!  And I need to find YOUR HEAD!"

I reached up to find that the brush had been rolled into my hair.  And it was stuck.

"That's very nice.  But I'm done.  No more hair fixing today!  Mommy is D-O-N-E, DONE."

"But MOOOOMMMMY!  I waaaant to!"  And a touchy Bean started throwing a temper tantrum.  C was still crying.  And at that point, as I tried to detach the brush from its nest on my skull, so was I.

Somehow, this wasn't what I had in mind when I thought about a relaxing session of mom-daughter bonding.

I'm just glad the doorbell didn't ring.