Nothing to See Here…

I’m not happy. I’m mad and I’m sad.

I’m angry at myself. And I feel a little like a toddler because I just want to pout and throw a temper tantrum.

Yesterday, I took my little girl to get her hair cut. She’s been asking for a hair cut for weeks. We have an ongoing battle to brush her hair. She hates this routine; brushing it reduces her to tears daily. And so she wanted to get it cut short.

We went into the salon and looked at their books. I suggested the “pixie” and she agreed. Not once did she show signs of any second thoughts - off it all came. I thought she looked adorable. She seemed fine with it.

There were a few comments from her dad and her sister, lovingly made, that planted the idea about short hair being associated with being a boy.

This morning, she didn’t want to go to school. She said her tummy felt all funny and she was scared her friends would think she was a boy. She said “I don’t want to go to school until it gets all growed out.” When we got to school, she walked that long hallway like she was going to the execution chamber. I could almost hear the ominous music that would have played had this been a movie. She was terrified.

At the door to her classroom, she held up her Berenstein Bears book to cover her head. She didn’t want to walk in; she needed prodding. I just wanted to hug her and take her home and call my boss and say “My little girl doesn’t like her hair cut and so I can’t come to work until it grows out.” But instead I prodded her gently and she walked into the classroom.

She would only look at the floor… no eye contact with anyone, not even me. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Her teacher sensed what was wrong and chose the tact of complimenting and adoring Jadyn’s new cut. While I recognize it was a good route to pursue, it had the opposite of the desired effect. Jadie would have rather not had the change acknowledged at all. She would have liked to pretend that nothing was different. Telling her how beautiful it was just served to make her more aware of it. My heart was breaking.

It took every ounce of strength I had to leave her in the classroom. At work, I made myself wait an hour before calling to check on her. The teacher said it’s been a little rough - several other toddlers wanted to know if she was a boy now. Natural curiosity, yadda yadda. However, the report was that Jadie handled it well and told them in a strong voice that no, she was not a boy, she was still a girl and just got a hair cut.

I asked the teacher if I could talk to Jadie and she, of course, put my girl on the phone. I asked how she was. “Fine.” she whispered. I told her after work we could go shopping and she could pick out pretty bows for her hair if she wanted to. “OK, Mommy.” No confidence behind it. Full of sadness.

I sit here at work and it’s all I can do not to call her school every hour, not to just leave and declare it an emergency and go scoop her up and protect her.

Yes, a post full of self-pity and no humor whatsoever.

Today I suck as a mother. Because I got her hair all cut off without carefully considering how she would feel afterwards. Because in solving the problem of how not to hurt her head each day when brushing, I’ve created another problem that hurts the core of her identity and no bandaid in the world will help. Because my baby is sad.

Before:

After: