Just LOOK at what she let me do:
No, no, no. You don't really get it. Here's the thing: this child HATES to have her hair handled by anyone other than herself. Some of our bloodiest battles have been over hair-combing. I breathed a sigh of relief when she was old enough to be taught how to care for it, even though I knew full well it would be emotionally healthier for her if I did it.
At the very beginning, it totally depressed me. I'd pick her up from a visit with these tight, shiny pigtails and think, oh great, she only wants her bio-mom to do her hair. She hates me. The reality, I found out later, was that Princess didn't want her bio-mom to do her hair any more than she wanted me to. In fact, it became one of the lynchpins of bonding problems between Princess and her bio-mom. According to the reports I received, visits were pretty much a screaming blood-bath of conditioner and hair ties.
So I gave it up.
Today she seemed pretty compliant. She took a shower; I had to wash her hair myself- doctor's orders. She had a deer tick in there that had swelled up to the size of a cob of corn before it was discovered. Shudder. Anyway. She appeared pretty relaxed after, and I asked if I could play with her hair, did she want some beads? Not only did she say yes, she was excited about it. Hmm.
So I braided a few sections of hair with the speed, agility, and tenderness of a trained rabid ferret-handler. I didn't put in any bands; I was careful not to pull. Even so, I could tell she was barely starting to get agitated by the end, especially when I touched hair by her temples.
But we survived. I'm going to be all over this bonding opening she's throwing out there. She'll never know what hit her.
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