A few days ago, I read an article entitled My Son Looks Like a Girl. So What? It really resonated with me.
Because my son kind of looks like a girl too.
And I’m fine with that.
Anyone who knows us knows that Tadpole has always hated having his hair cut. The first time he had it snipped was shortly after his second birthday, when someone looked at me and said, “What a pretty little girl! What’s her name?” Tadpole replied that he was a boy, which kind of embarrassed the lady who had asked, but Tadpole seemed, not bothered that people thought he was a girl, but that they didn’t realise he was a boy. I know it’s difficult to make a distinction between those two statements, but Tadpole doesn’t care if people are boys are girls – as far as he’s concerned, it makes no difference at all, but I think he just found it odd that people thought he was something that he was not.
Anyway, we took him for a haircut.
And it was one of the most traumatic experiences any of us has ever endured.
The other traumatic incidences also all involved him getting a haircut.
Tadpole’s most recent barber experience was a bit of an odd one. He suddenly announced he wanted a hair cut, so we took him along to one of the very few barbers who are open on a Sunday (which means they charge adult prices even for very small children!). He watched other boys and men getting their hair done and pointed to one lad, who was getting his head shaved to a #2, announcing that was what he wanted done.
It started well. He clambered up into the seat and wore the “superhero cape” to keep the hair off his clothes. The lady started buzzing his hair of from the back and he moved his head wherever she put it.
Then she came round the front.
And Tadpole freaked out.
We couldn’t leave him with a half-shaved head, so both hubby and I had to restrain him (no easy matter!) while the job was finished. He screamed the place down. You would have thought he was getting his limbs cut off with no anaesthetic. It was heartbreaking and I wanted to cry right along with him.
I vowed then and there that I would never go through that, nor put him through that ever again. As far as I’m concerned, if Tadpole ever decides he wants his hair cut again, it can happen, but till then, his hair can grow down past his knees, for all I care, so long as he’s happy.
At present, Tadpole’s hair is curling up at his shoulders. He’s a very pretty looking little boy, but he’s very obviously a BOY. He also owns several pink T-shirts (which he chose), but is just as likely to choose an all-black outfit (yes, he’s like a mini Goth!) or his Superman T-shirt. He also likes to “look very smart” and will choose to wear a nice shirt and lament his lack of a tie. That said, he still likes to dress up in my high heeled shoes and carry one of my handbags around the house.
So, there’s a very good chance we’re raising the next Eddie Izzard, and that makes me smile. Because our very sensitive and caring little boy is very secure in himself and is unafraid to wear whatever he wants and keep his hair long. He’ll happily play with cars or his toy kitchen or push a dolly around in a pram (and he LOVES babies!). He’s still learning how to deal with compliments, but he’s getting better at accepting them, and he dishes them out in spades.
Our boy looks like a girl, and there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, I look like a girl. Do I get judged for it? No! There’s nothing wrong with looking like a girl because there is nothing wrong with being a girl. And my son already seems to know that.
I am proud of my girlie boy!