I’m sure that by now, many of you have seen this story about how kids who are watching TV when they get an injection are less likely to report pain than kids who were just being comforted by their mothers (question–were no fathers involved in these doctors visits?).
Obviously, the researchers have not been at our house when the Bee’s hair is being brushed after a bath. Despite the soporific effects of the Fairly Oddparents (which, btw, is there a more inane kids show? no, don’t answer that), she complains tremendously when we’re de-tangling.
Landisdad and I have a passive conflict going about the Bee’s hair, a sort of hair cold war, if you will. I love the Bee’s hair, and as a former long-haired girl myself, I remember too well how much it hurts to have it yanked on. Both the Bee and I are pretty tender-headed, and yet I loved having long hair, and I know she loves her hair.
Landisdad has a much less sentimental vision of the Bee’s hair, and tends to advocate for a much shorter haircut. I have a very vivid memory of getting my first short haircut when I was 8 or 9 years old, and having my best friend mistake me for a boy when I was walking down the street. It was fairly disconcerting to me, and made me immediately regret my choice to cut my hair.
I don’t want to be one of those mothers who lives vicariously through her child. If the Bee came to me tomorrow and said she wanted a buzz cut, I’d cry, but I’d do it. She should have the right to do what she wants with her hair.
The Potato has much shorter hair than the Bee right now, and he wants ponytails. I’ve considered letting him grow his out, but I don’t know. If he’s anywhere near as tenderheaded as the Bee, I couldn’t survive bath night.