chopping block and life when you're the fourth

So - as she approaches 8 months old, Bunny's hair was becoming a struggle.




She had rubbed so much of it off, and it was growing in so light - it was looking scragglier by the day.  I was finally resigned to giving her a real hair cut.






When I had my first haircut, being an oldest child, it was a production.  Lots of pictures taken before, during, and after.  I'm sure I had my mother's undivided attention throughout the entire process.  Alas, Bunny is the fourth child.  And her first haircut went something like this:

I scheduled haircuts for all of my boys on the evening Mr Renn has to work late.  I asked if we could squeeze Bunny in there too.  To clean her up a bit and de-scraggle her as much as possible. We headed over to our hair lady's house with my 12 year old cousin to help out, we are always a traveling circus.

Because Sir O was being especially ornery that day (and every day this summer) I bribed him into going first.  Then our congenial Gentleman was begging to go next.  And just as his haircut was wrapping up, the Captain peed all over the nice hair lady's sofa.  He hasn't had an accident in 6 months.  Of course I was unprepared for that, so I sequestered him in their bathroom, and ran home for a change of clothes and our carpet cleaner.

And so it worked out that instead of even being present for Bunny's first haircut, I was running home and back and cleaning up pee.  And when she emerged all pixi-fied I was quite melancholy.  Not because I didn't like her haircut, but because I missed it.

But you know what, hair is just hair.  And hair grows.  And Bunny hasn't a clue that she looks any different.  Nor should she.  Nothing that's real has changed.  Nothing that lasts has changed.  And she has plenty of bows.