All three of my children have curly hair.
With Bug, it's only in the back, giving him a mini mullet.
With Boo, who has coarse hair like his daddy, it's all over and, when allowed to grow, resembles a white boy's Afro.
Those two are easy. We keep their hair length at 1 inch, tops.
But Punk, poor, poor Punk.
My baby's got curl.
All over, in increasingly tight ringlets.
It's beautiful.
It's wonderful.
It's a pain in my butt to deal with.
To look at her hair, it doesn't appear to be that long. The longest ringlet falls just below shoulder level.
Until you get her hair wet and realize its past the middle of her back.
Her curls are so blasted aggressive that they don't seem to get any longer, just more abundant.
And knotted.
And harder to brush.
and by the end of the day, she resembles a pissed off poodle.
I use conditioners and detanglers. They roll over, show their soft, white underbellies, and plead for mercy.
And I have flashbacks of my own childhood and my mom manhandling her way through brushing my curly hair.
I still hate having my hair messed with to this day.
And I hate the thought that Punk cries every time she sees a hair brush no matter how much I try to make it painless.
I'm considering a Sinead o'Conner look for her, just to end the pain.
And I'm waiting for The Man to turn away just long enough.
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