Even when she had an unfortunate baby mullet, I left it alone. I nurtured it and brushed it and whispered for it to keep growing. I celebrated her first birthday by putting in the world’s tiniest sprouted pigtails — each no more than a couple of centimetres above her scalp.
I jokingly told people she’d be in her teens before we trimmed a single strand, and our daughter was totally on board. She loved when I rinsed the shampoo from her hair because it made it “long like Rapunzel.” She begged me to straighten it sometimes just to make it longer. Every little bit it grew felt like an accomplishment.
She loved her long hair until suddenly, at exactly four and a half years old, she didn’t. She wanted a haircut — a short haircut, preferably the length of her brother’s hair — and bangs. Immediately.