Yesterday you had your third haircut (fourth really, but we won't count the time I cut it because it was more of a massacre). Nanny wanted to take you to the barber shop to get a trim.
When we got there, we definitely looked out of place because the average age in there was around 60. You sat on a little board across the chair and they put a giant apron over your clothes and you looked very stoic and solemn as the lady began her work. There was an old man getting his hair cut next to you and at times your chairs would face each other but neither of you said anything or even smiled, you just stared at each other. It was strange and cute at the same time. Sorry I didn't have my camera - this whole thing was a spur of the moment idea.
You seemed a little unsure of having to sit still while a razor buzzed in your ear (fair enough) so you kept saying "Done?" and wanting to get down. But we held your patience with the promise of a treat which I knew all along was a Dum Dum sucker and would have to be taken away as soon as we got in the car (choking hazard). Nanny threw out the promise of a popsicle though and then you were ok.
Afterwards, you liked telling us that you got your hair cut and then you'd clap and yell "yay!" which was weird because no one else cheered about it. But hey, whatever floats your tiny boat. Here's a picture of you eating your popsicle after your hair cut. You were really pumped about it.
And that's the story of the time you went to the Barber Shop.