"Mom, it's time we talked. I'm 11 months old now. I know, I know, don't tear up again. Do you see my hair? It's cray zee. I look like I have no parents, which I do. I have two. Can we fix this?"
"Do you really like seeing this every morning, do you? You spend like 10 minutes trying to comb out this rat-nest while trying not to tear out the skin attached to my scalp. Thanks for that btw."
"Isn't this way better? I look pretty dang good first thing in the am, if I do say so myself."
"Let's face it, I'm a straight-up handsome man!"
And that's the story of Ollie's first haircut. I never dreamed I would have a baby born with so much hair that at 11 months old he'd get actual inches of hair cut off, but I do. I have to say I missed that fauxhawk tons.
