*GULP*

I just made an appointment for Natalie with my stylist.  Every day involves either combing and crying or leaving it alone and having her look like an escaped mental patient.  Her hair is better for storage than most pants pockets.  At any given moment, you can find food, boogies or unidentifiable fuzzies nestled in her curls.  I cannot take her crazy dreadlocks anymore.  Her hair is curly and yet soft and baby fine, a recipe for knots and tears.  I think we're going to cut it short and hope it grows back thicker and easier to manage.  As it stands now, she uses more hair product than me.  

I love little girls with long  hair.  I always pictured myself having a little girl with long blonde pigtails.  (I also pictured myself living in Paris, married to Tom Cruise, which brings to mind that Garth Brooks song about thanking God for unanswered prayers.)  Now I'd be happy to have a little girl who doesn't scream and run from the room when she sees a comb in my hand.  I can't blame her; all the Infusium in the world doesn't help with the knots along her hairline.  No matter how hard I try to be gentle, it must really hurt.  I just hope cutting her hair doesn't make her look like a stranger.

Tommy Boy is NOT going to like this idea but hey, he isn't the one fighting and losing to her hair tornado each day.