It was time.
Because we are good Americans, we chose one of those obnoxious places that smack of primary colors and mini TV's with Dora! or ScoobyDoo! or something equally annoying singing and dancing on screen. We really weren't sure what to expect in terms of Carter's reaction, so of course it was the WHOLE FAMILY and CAMERAS and DORA and YELLOW WALLS...what!?! That doesn't scream Zen surroundings for a first haircut to you?
Anyway, it was relatively uneventful. The timid hair cutter lady snipped (AT SNAILS PACE), Carter seamlessly followed the shiny scissors (Read [implements of DOOOOOOOM!]) and I hovered (as any good mama would do...). UNTIL (dum, dum, duuuuuuuum!) the timid hair cutter started acting like maybe she was done- and I'm all "ummm, maybe you could bring it up a little higher over the ear here..." and " no, really- up OVER the ear". And she's all giving me the stink eye and reaching for the blow dryer. Since I'm new at this whole thing I was trying not to make the poor lady cry, but I was starting to get a little frustrated at the whole "doesn't look like a single hair was harmed in the making of this haircut" haircut. And just as I was about to tell the meek stylist where she should put her scissors, she reached for her large jar of... wait for it... HAIR BOWS! The woman thought my uber masculine son was a girl! and was resisting my encouragement to actually CUT the hair because he would LOOK like a boy! Um, yeah. So we cleared that whole thing up, and Carter got a quick and dirty boys cut. We all got a lollipop and lived happily ever after. The end.
It was an event. I'm glad I packed tissues.