To Snip, or Not To Snip: Part Three

If you've been a long time reader of the Cheese Party, then you know that we did not have Sam circumcised. For the last three or four months, we have also resisted cutting his hair. Every time someone (who knows us and the state of our son's wang) would ask us about it, our response was 'Like his penis, his hair is uncut.' It's never been an issue with me, but he must be using Mane 'n Tail because it seems he's had a growth spurt on his head.

We were out to eat on vacation, and our waitress asked us about our little girl. She looked really surprised when we corrected her. It's not entirely an uncommon occurrence, but it doesn't bother me. What did bother me was how she then proceeded to go to the bar and say, quite loud enough for me to hear, 'Can you guys believe that isn't a little girl?' After that, we had a parade of waiters and waitresses and even one bar tender come by our table to check out the little boy who looks like a girl.

Additionally, after one too many complaints from relatives about pictures like this:

we decided it was high time to head out to the barber shop. Also, he had a runny nose last week and the hair that falls on his face kept getting all snotted up, which was pretty gross.

Right around the corner from here is a place called Snip-Its, so we packed up the boy and headed over for the big event. From the moment they strapped him into the baby-sized barber chair it was over. I bawled like a little fucking baby. Actually, though, Sam was a perfect angel, so I guess I can't really say I bawled like a baby. More like a severely hormonal seven month pregnant rhino who's baby is growing up before her very eyes. Yeah, that about about sums it up.

Since the place is made for kids, they had videos playing at each station, an endless supply of animal crackers and bucketfuls of toys to keep the little ones distracted. Sam was most interested in the animal crackers, which SOB dutifully popped into his little mouth on command.

Initially I just got a little misty, which the sweet hair cutting girl assured me happens all the time. But once she started cutting more and more off, I couldn't stop the tears. It got so bad that several different employees came over to comfort me. They brought me a box of tissues as SOB tried to pretend he didn't know me. I had been wielding the camera, but once the crying really got out of control SOB took it from me and threatened to take my picture if I didn't stop. I did finally manage to get myself under control until I saw the finished product:

I think the first words out of my mouth were 'Oh my god I hate it!' Hair cutter girl got a huge tip as a gesture of apology for that comment. SOB thinks we should have gotten it cut even shorter, but I don't think I could have handled any more cutting.

So what's your opinion, dear readers? Did you like him with his rock star hair better, or do you like this little boy who looks like he's ready to trot off to kindergarten? And which one of you wants to come down here and hold me while I weep?