Haircut Incident

Yesterday, my husband and I decided to give our son another haircut -- his fourth. He cried his eyes and lungs out during his third time even if he had it at a haircut salon catering to babies and children. This time around, we went to the barber's shop in our neighborhood that my husband suggested because it said "kids haircut salon," too on its signage.

We thought that maybe if our son had a haircut at the same place and time his Dad is having one, then the stress and trauma will be less. We guessed wrong. :(

Polo didn't care if his Dad and Mom were both wearing the usual robe. He didn't want to wear one. Period. The friendly barber and I just wrapped a mini towel around Polo's neck.

Polo didn't care if we seated him in a child-friendly-barber's-chair-car that's situated right in front of a tv playing Barney. The car nor Barney, his friend, didn't do the trick.

Polo didn't care if I was seated on the barber's chair and carrying him all through out the haircut. Mommy's charms didn't work but from time to time, the Pizza Hut commercial and thoughts of spaghetti, pizza and chicken was able to temporarily distract him. Some times, singing fill-in-the-blanks Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Row, Row Your Boat did the trick but only momentarily...

Polo didn't even care if his father was seated in the barber's chair beside him, having his dreaded good-boy barber's cut (I say, "dreaded" because the usual barber's cut is not his dad's style. Polo's dad prefers the layered crop style of more modern haircutters). Polo just kept on crying and shouting (good thing, he wasn't physically violent).

The good old barber (who seemed like a scary stranger with a comb, a pair scissors and a razor to Polo), was skilled and patient enough to cut our little boy's thin hair. Once in a while, he tried to charm Polo but to no avail. In Polo's mind, the barber was the enemy. In Polo's one-year and seven-month's mind, all he wanted to do was get out of the shop and ride his Papa's car.

After an hour or so of torture for Polo, we all decided that his hair has been trimmed enough. Between sobs and deep breaths, Polo was comforted by his dad. We paid for the father & son haircut, said "bye" to the barbers and headed to the nearest happy place Polo knew -- Jollibee.

Polo was rewarded with a Jolly Sundae, Jolly Fries and a Jolly Meal Toy. In the happy place, it seems that the shadows of the barber shop incident have slowly melted away. Thanks to Jollibee, our little cub was sane again.

We're still on a quest to find a suitable happy-place hair salon for Polliepoe.