Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Longing for Pooville

What seems like eons ago, mere weeks after announcing our pending parenthood, the emails started.

Tongue in cheek, congratulatory emails otherwise known as “Now-you’ve-done-it-and-here’s-what you-can-look-forward-to emails”.

They were emails demonstrating in oh so graphic detail all the joys of rearing infants and toddlers.

Memes involving rosy faced tots in varying fits of rage. Or, at meal time, buried beneath multiple layers of food, upturned bowl on their heads with the remaining content spread about the room as if pureed with a high speed lawn trimming device.

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Welcome to Pooville

And then there was my favourite. This being the image of an exhausted and subsequently passed out toddler in the middle of a bedroom floor. One shared with nothing other than a discarded soiled nappy and one the room’s splatter patterns lead us to believe had been twirled overhead in the manner of undergarments in the hands of a particularly overzealous stripper.

Pooville. In all its gritty, gory glory.

I remember grinning then. It was the grin of a guy who felt in his gut that such scenes (and other well-worn Hollywood produced scenarios) were little more than examples of the fear of death being worse than death itself.

No, I didn’t doubt someone somewhere had in fact been doused by a blast of infant urine while in the process of changing a child’s nappy.  Nor did I doubt that an infant’s bout of explosive diarrhoea hadn’t made for an awkward and uncomfortable moment or two throughout the ages. But let’s just say I was sceptical it was such a common occurrence investing in protective eyewear and a Hazmat suite was an absolute necessity.

And I’m happy to report, for the most part, I was right.

Maybe we were just lucky, but Kaia’s been extremely good to us in regards to most things involving food consumption tendencies and bodily function decorum.

Actually, except for her South American learned tendency to drop and go in even the most public of places (as opposed to having to brave public toilets she quickly adopted a phobic like aversion to), cleaning up in Kaia’s wake has been a relative cakewalk.

Much ado about nothing. Such has been our attitude. We came, we saw, and, in the end, we wondered what all the fuss was about. But unfortunately, there was apparently one child rearing meme that didn’t make it across our desks.

This one, involving the self grooming idiosyncrasies of near four year olds. In particular, hair and hair cuts. Hair cuts

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Look Uncle Michael, no hair.

of the self inflicted variety.

There is not a parent on the planet that doesn’t consider their cherub the cutest thing to have ever emerged from the adorable child mould.

We’re definitely no different. And, after almost four years without touching Kaia’s flowing blonde locks and (all the while debating amongst ourselves the best time to take her in for the first haircut of her life), we’d grown quite fond of the sight of our daughter’s smiling face beaming out from beneath a headful of hair that bathed the girl in a radiant aura like ambiance.

That hair was the proverbial icing on the cake. A unique, one of a kind cake that was our little Kaia.

So, to say we found ourselves distressed at the sight of a substantial quantity of our daughter’s hair clippings strewn about her bedroom floor (and, for good measure, a small pile in one of her dresser drawers as well) is an understatement. And a massive one at that.

In Aussie parlance, we were well and truly ‘gutted’.

And only slightly less so than if we’d just learned Kaia’s name had been drawn as a finalist for a Middle Eastern child bride sweepstake.

Meanwhile, posted images on Facebook garnered more than their fair share of insightful comments.

Comments about Kaia now being ready for Burning Man, having a mullet to rival Billy Ray Cyrus, looking like Dale Kerrigan from ‘The Castle’, like retro 80’s icon Cindy Lauper minus the orange hair and, adding insult to injury, how Kaia’s hair still looks far better than her father’s.

Hardy HA HA. Barrel of laughs abounded all around, I can assure you. All before calmer heads prevailed and more than one person was kind enough to point out Kaia was still as adorable as ever and, unlike the case for poor ol’ dad, Kaia’s hair would grow back. And most importantly, at least Kaia had managed to avoid cutting off her ear.

All this before word from veteran parents and various day care and kindy employees trickled back to us that, who’d have ever guessed, such behavior was apparently quite common.

Which leaves me to ask, common to whom?

Because it was definitely not common enough to have made it onto our radar. We’ve read the books, we’ve watched our fair share of Hollywood coming of age child rearing comedies and we’re old enough to have plenty of friends that have taken point in navigating the many quirks of young children.

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Our Princes Bogan

Nothing. Not a single word to warn us about this allegedly common behavior.

Call me crazy but, even a week on and the sight of our little ‘bogan’ looking daughter slowly becoming less confronting, I can’t help but still find myself longing for what could’ve been.

That being a stop or two in Pooville.

Because from this side of the grass is greener fence, that place seems a much easier scenario to handle.

 

 

 

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