Today Gracie got braids, real braids, not the ones mommy does, or at least tries to do. The end product...delightful. The road to getting there...paved with disaster. She was great while we waited and kept talking about getting her hair done and looking at the ladies in the salon. Then the second the stylist touched her hair is was like bride of chucky replaced my beautiful daughter. She screamed like they were pouring acid on her and not just combing the hair. I tried every trick I had. I brought an old cell phone for her to play with. That worked for a couple minutes. Well, long enough for her to pretend she was calling her grandfather to tell him she was "ready a go!" I tried a little hand held video game and that worked for a minute. I tried the game she loves where we sing a song but I mess up the words and she corrects me. I tried a lollipop which was a bad idea. It was great at first but then she got a second wind and her lollipop hand was flailing all over and she covered herself, and my hair in it. I tried promising her a chocolate milk on the way home if she stopped crying. I tried talking about every toy we would play with when we got home. Again, it distracted her for a second and then she was worse. Finally, I held her in a bear hug facing me, I hummed to her and about 9 minutes before it was done she surrendered. In hindsight, I should have waited until she was closer to three. In my mind, the prize was getting the hair braided so we 'd have a couple of weeks of not fighting every morning over the hair. Unfortunately, I didn't foresee that the prize would be so hard fought for. She was so upset and while I love the braids, and it will make our lives easier, it wasn't worth the panic it caused her. As soon as it was done I stood up to go pay and she saw a glance of herself in the mirror and said "oh Mumma, Look a me! Look a me! Gracie have braids, Gracie nice braids". If only she could have processed this earlier on in the appointment. So while I'm still traumatized by it, she is delighted with the final product. When we saw my sister she walked up to her and did a little dance and sang, I love my hair, I love my hair, just like the little girl in the Sesame Street Clip. She loves it s much that she agreed to wear her sleep cap to keep her braids pretty, which is a small miracle. I felt so badly about how hard it was for the stylist that I gave her a 45% tip. I figured that will at least help cover some of her future hearing damage.
I know she's skittish about the hair, I just thought she would cry for a minute and then we'd be on our way. I actually felt pretty badly when we first left. I felt like I put my need not to fight over hair over her anxiety. I didn't set out to do that but I obviously miscalculated what she was ready for. And now I learn from it.
Here are the before and afters:
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| While she didn't stop screaming, she still got the chocolate milk and a victory bagel. To be honest, we both needed the treat for having survived it! |
