life goes on
I'm proud to announce that Dutch ticked off another developmental milestone today! I was sitting talking to a midwife (the third of my three postpartum home visits - midwives are AWESOME) when Dutch breezed through the living room and went out the apartment door. A few minutes later, Cook came in and said "Did Dutch just leave?" and I said "Um... yes?" and just then the doorbell rang. Cook went down to let Dutch in, and found her on the doorstep with a dustpan, from which she had just emptied a big chunk of her own hair, which she had cut with her own scissors. She did not cut herself bangs, which I believe is the classic cutting-0wn-hair approach, but she did cut a bunch of random short sections.
Tonight (with 4 hours of naptime under my belt, making me more reliable with scissors) I cut her hair in an attempt to even things up.* She was perfectly happy about it until she went to look in the mirror and freaked out because she no longer looks pretty. She doesn't want to go to daycare tomorrow because she's not beautiful. She spent a good 10 minutes sobbing in the bathroom. Cook, after attempting to console her, came out in the livingroom and looked at me. "How did we end up getting this kid?" he asked. (I cut Cook's hair, and I used to cut my own, for a good 10 years. We don't look very pretty.)
Meanwhile, Skipper has been sleeping a lot, and staring at her sister in amazement a lot. The hospital, where she's spent nearly half her life, is much quieter than our home...
*It's a good thing layers are fashionable. I think they're supposed to be more carefully arranged, however.
Tonight (with 4 hours of naptime under my belt, making me more reliable with scissors) I cut her hair in an attempt to even things up.* She was perfectly happy about it until she went to look in the mirror and freaked out because she no longer looks pretty. She doesn't want to go to daycare tomorrow because she's not beautiful. She spent a good 10 minutes sobbing in the bathroom. Cook, after attempting to console her, came out in the livingroom and looked at me. "How did we end up getting this kid?" he asked. (I cut Cook's hair, and I used to cut my own, for a good 10 years. We don't look very pretty.)
Meanwhile, Skipper has been sleeping a lot, and staring at her sister in amazement a lot. The hospital, where she's spent nearly half her life, is much quieter than our home...
*It's a good thing layers are fashionable. I think they're supposed to be more carefully arranged, however.
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