Baby Bop is a legitimate person. I made that decision a long time ago when the two of us went in the HOV lane, but I still find myself being taken aback by her emerging personhood.
She is not a baby anymore and needs an updated blog name. I’ve got no spectacular ideas so I’m going with BB for now.
BB has a lot to say. Usually she’s too reserved to speak up in public. Every week at the grocery store I try to go to the same cashier. It’s nice to know that she’ll accept BB’s death stare and not torture all of us by trying to get her to break.
I’ve given up on cutting BB’s hair myself. A couple months ago I went to a salon that markets itself for kids. I will never drag BB in there again.
I thought it would be fun. Instead we had to wait while 2 other kids screamed. BB looked torn and appeared to be deciding whether she should cry too. I whipped out a video on my phone before she could make a decision.
Five minutes and $20 later we were out of there. BB didn’t even cry, but they still rushed us along and gave her a mediocre cut. A month later with her bangs in her face, we have to try somewhere else. I want it cheap and close to home.
I find a tiny, low-key, barber shop. We walk in and there’s a kiddie chair with tires and a steering wheel. This feels like we hit the jackpot.
The stylist is finishing one guy and greets us with,
“Two ahead of you, won’t be long.”
Two grown men, who look like they haven’t had a hair cut in a year, are ahead of us. I’m happy neither are crying.
We sit down to wait and I point out the “tractor chair” to BB. She’s thrilled. She’s also concerned with the men getting their hair cut. She points at all the hair on the floor and tells me.
“A mess.”
“Yeah.”
“Dirty, a mess.”
“Yes it’s a lot of hair.”
“Mommy clean it up.”
“It’s ok, it doesn’t need to be cleaned up right now.”
And now uncharacteristically for BB in public, she raises her voice and demands,
“Mommy, a mess, dirty, clean it up.”
“It’s ok. It’s hair and the stylist is very busy. It’ll get cleaned up later.”
BB now is speaking at a volume that causes all other conversations in the barber shop to cease.
“MOMMY! A MESS! CLEAN IT UP!”
GOOD GRIEF! Are we about to have a tantrum? And does my daughter have a dose of the OCD that runs in my family but may have missed me? Every carpet fuzzy she finds comes straight to me with a demand to put it in the trash.
BB survives until it’s her turn to get her haircut. The stylist, who is the only one in the shop and hasn’t been sweeping up for the sake of saving time, tells BB,
“I’ll sweep up and then I’m ready for you.”
BB concurs,
“A mess.”
Good Times with Jess 