Kiddo came into the bedroom yesterday as I was reading, handed me a pair of scissors and informed me that I needed to cut her hair. I could have cried, absolutely sobbed. But I picked up the scissors and gave her bangs and a cute little bob. At least she didn’t hack at her hair herself, y’know? I remember when I was around her age and older, when I would be the one getting her hair cut and howling. My mother insisted that I looked better with short hair, I say she didn’t want to take care of it. In any case, I looked like a freaking garconne. A boy. It was traumatic. Still bothers me.

But this is the kind of thing between the Kiddo and I that astonishes me. She’s in some kind of hurry it seems to me, to advance, grow up. And I’m so not ready. What am I going to do when she’s a teenager??


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