Saturday was the big day: we finally took (not for much longer) Baby J to get his hair cut.
The trip was much needed, as you can tell from the last few pictures. You see, the husband was told by some superstitious women at work that it was bad luck to cut your child's hair before he or she turned one year old and, for some reason, illogic trumped practicality, and he insisted that we wait until then. So we did and watched J's hair, particularly his "bangs" get longer and longer and attract more and more food and stick out further and further when he woke up each morning. Until at last the day arrived and, after some protest on my part, off we went. (I was concerned that my squirrelly one year old wouldn't do well at a thoroughly adult barber shop.)
Fortunately, J was cooperative, Bubbha the Barber was quick and understanding, and the whole event was painless. It did take three of us, the husband to hold Baby J, me to distract him with the water in the counter sink, and the barber to swoop in and cut when J's fascination with the water overcame his wriggling or his distraction with the doorbell. But the ordeal wasn't really much of an ordeal, and we got the requisite lock of hair, and we even left with a certificate commemorating the first haircut. As the barber pointed out, now J won't have bad associations with getting his hair cut and will be eager to come back.
And he looks so cute, if so very, very grown up. See for yourself with these before and after shots. (And yes, our barber is wearing a KISS shirt and has multiple tattoos. Your point?)