For the first year of my daughter’s life, I reveled in the art of adorning her little head. We had vibrant stretchy headbands of every hue, an abundance of oversized flowers, and my personal favorite—a charming red satin ribbon that made her look just like a miniature Snow White. When headbands lost their charm, we turned to hats, because honestly, nothing is cuter than a baby wearing a hat.
But then, she grew hair.
Initially, this was exciting and new. We embraced the tiny toddler pigtails, and I felt confident in my styling skills—until we entered the preschool phase, where I had to confront a harsh reality: I am terrible at doing hair.
I should have seen the signs. I grew up in the era of mall hairstyles, yet I was the only girl in school with a flat, lifeless mane. While my classmates sported gravity-defying bangs, mine hung limply to one side. I didn’t bother with curling irons, Dippity-do, or that grape-scented spritz that turned hair into a plastic-like mess. My mom insisted on giving me a spiral perm, which I detested, and since then, I’ve only had two hairstyles in my adult life: long and straight, or bobbed and straight. According to every beauty magazine ever, I was also blow-drying my hair wrong, having confused the “ends” with the roots. So, I gave up blow-drying altogether and now resemble Samara from The Ring most of the time.
By the time my daughter turned three and developed a full head of hair, she looked like a child straight out of a prehistoric era. Imagine every depiction of caveman children, and that was the hair situation I was facing. I often had to reassure onlookers that no, my child wasn’t raised by wolves, and no, I wasn’t about to crawl out of a television set.
I have no idea what a diffuser does. I can’t handle a round brush without needing scissors to free it from my scalp. And please don’t mention hot rollers, salt spray, or dry shampoo (which still confounds me). The only hair skill I possess is removing gum from locks (hint: use oil, you’re welcome).
One day, an incredibly polite fellow preschool mom suggested I try some detangler, and the moment I did, it was as if a lightbulb went off in my head. This felt like a significant triumph—until my four-year-old came home one day, requesting “beachy waves.” Even more alarming? She could pronounce “ombre” flawlessly. Things quickly escalated as she began asking for fishtails, mermaid hair, and something called a “waterfall twist.”
“Mommy, can you give me a topknot with a bow made from my own hair?” she inquired.
If you’re wondering where she learned these terms, the answer is simple: YouTube and her classmates, who were evidently obsessed with hair-braiding tutorials. These kids could barely color within the lines, yet they all knew the distinctions between a Dutch braid and a French braid, neither of which I have yet mastered. But I’m determined to learn—slowly but surely.
I’m genuinely trying. I want to do this for my daughter, not just to make her happy, but also so she can look back at her childhood photos with joy instead of the horror I feel when I see that sagging spiral perm from 1989. I’m committed to learning how to style hair as a personal redemption, and because I enjoy a good challenge.
I’m proud to say I can now manage a sock bun thanks to one of those As Seen on TV Hot Buns gadgets. It actually works. My bathroom now holds more styling products than I’ve owned in my entire life combined. I’m still figuring out what to do with all of them.
Each morning, I practice. My daughter is my eager test subject. We share laughs and plan our day while I attempt to twist, weave, and clip. She tells me what she dreams of, and I give it my all. Usually, my efforts result in a mess of bumps and tangles that fall apart within minutes, but I refuse to give up! I diligently watch tutorials.
Just yesterday, she asked for a crown of braids that would wrap around her head.
“Settle down, Milk Maid of the Alps,” I joked, but I tried it anyway. She ended up looking more like a whimsical Frida Kahlo than Heidi, but she thought it was beautiful, and that’s what truly matters, right?
Though progress is slow, it is happening. Realistically, my daughter and I may never be Instagram hair influencers, but that’s not the point. It’s about bonding with her, making an effort to learn for her sake, and showing her that practice leads to improvement. Sure, it may not be perfect, but perhaps one day I’ll achieve a respectable side pony fishtail.
For more insights on parenting and family life, consider checking out this blog post which offers great advice on various topics. Additionally, if you’re exploring the journey of conception, this site provides valuable resources. For those interested in fertility and pregnancy, this is an excellent resource that can help guide your path.
In summary, this journey of hair styling has become much more than just about aesthetics; it’s a delightful bonding experience with my daughter, filled with laughter, creativity, and a healthy dose of perseverance.