When she was a baby, her hair was like a cross between George McFly and Pete Wentz. Short hair, long, spiky bangs. I tried to cut them, and it was a disaster, so we went to the place where she sat in a plastic airplane and watched movies, and they cut her hair. Like this.
That was age 2. The age her brother is now. Sniffle.
And then she forgot she had hair and went about being a kid. She got into fairies and princesses and ballerinas.
And then she saw Tangled.
"Mama, I want to have hair as long as Rapunzel," she said.
And I totally dug that, because I want to have hair as long as Rapunzel, too. So it's been growing ever since, and every day, I love brushing it out and seeing the spun curls in the caramel.
I love her princess hair.
And then last night, I found a tiny lock of hair on the ground of my bathroom. I figured her brother had just yanked out another clump for funsies. But the top was unnaturally straight.
"Biscuit," I said gently. "Did you do this?"
She tried to hide behind her shoulder.
"Um," she said.
"It's okay. You can tell us. We're not angry," her father said.
But I was angry, just a little. I smiled anyway.
"I just wanted to cut my bangs a little," she said. "To see what it was like."
"Well," I said. "Are your bangs bothering you? Or were you curious about what it would be like to cut your own hair?"
"No," she said, looking at the ground.
"Do you want to cut your hair? Go get a new haircut like Maddie or Sam or Bella?"
"Then we can do that."
She looked up at me, startled.
So today we're going to cut off those beautiful curls.
It was my job to say yes, even if I didn't want to.