A new woman

My ten-year-old daughter has officially begun the magical progression toward womanhood. Gone are the days of pigtails and plastic princess shoes. Hair bows and footie pajamas are but a memory. Because yesterday, my Annie had her first blow-out at the beauty salon.

I could see it coming. Hairstyling was spreading like the stomach flu in her fourth grade class. With each day came the latest styling news, usually on the way home from the bus stop. “Everybody’s getting bob cuts. Melissa got one, and Isabel. Madison’s is really short. She hates it,” reported Annie. It was even more important news than what that nasty boy from the neighborhood did on the bus.

It’s not as if we’ve ignored her hair entirely. That would be impossible, in fact, because Annie has the most gorgeous head of hair to ever grace a scalp. It’s long, wavy, and the perfect shade of strawberry blonde. Hair color companies have been sending spies around since her birth, I’m convinced.

But the truth is, I don’t really want any more responsibility than I already have. This is so much the case that I’m looking slant-eyed at the formerly beautiful potted rose the husband gave me for Valentine’s Day. Every time I see it, I think, ‘I can’t believe he thinks I can care for another living thing besides these three kids, and iron his pants!’ Very ungracious thoughts, I know. So grooming, for all of us, has generally taken a back seat to basic survival in the midst of ballet, soccer, gymnastics and homework.

Then came the final straw. Lexi, our cute little neighbor from across the street, made the leap from wearing long braids in her thick chestnut locks to a cute angled cut. She was over at our house in a flash to show it off. Annie was green.

With much resignation, I made an appointment with my stylist. Isn’t it interesting how easily Andrea was able to “work” Annie into her schedule when it takes weeks for current customers to get an appointment? She knew what I didn’t: that blow-outs are like crack cocaine to young women, and once Annie got hooked, there would be no going back.

Annie was already beaming as she made her way from sink to chair. This was way more pampering than she got at our neighborhood stop-and-chop. Andrea’s tedious attention to gathering Annie’s hair in cute little bundles all over her head was also impressive. But the pinnacle was when the blowdryer and the round brush came out. Andrea turned the chair so her helpless victim was temporarily shielded from the transformation, but I could see the writing on the wall. Annie was gorgeous. When the chair finally faced the mirror, Annie could only stammer, “Wow!!!” The journey toward womanhood had begun.

All afternoon I listened to squeals of excitement every time Annie was able to find her way to a mirror. And every time I caught a glimpse of the smooth, flipped up head that used to belong to my sweet baby, my heart skipped a beat. It’s just a haircut, but it’s also a sign of things to come. I only hope I she’ll fare better than the roses.