Cut.

Yesterday, the six year old announced she wanted a haircut. A 'Bob' to be precise.
As it seems my entire role in life is to do the bidding of the six year old, I dutifully made an appointment. Not at the local Panda Room (kids haircuts and lollipops) but at "a proper salon Mama."

Watching my little girl sitting in a salon chatting with her stylist about her desired 'look' was both cute and terrifying.
She suddenly looked sixteen not six and was so clearly delighted with the whole experience. I had to leave the room to get 'something' out of my eye.

The end result was gorgeous. A perfect balance of little girl with a hint of style.
Her curls all lay on the floor and I had to whisk one away in my wallet.
She was so delighted with the whole experience and had a definite spring in her step as we left. We paused at every shop window to check she was still cute and she couldn't wait to get home to spend a solid hour looking in the mirror.

This morning I was woken by a whisper in my ear at 6.20am, "Is it still cute Mama?"
I'm not sure she noticed that I didn't even open my eyes as I declared her hair still fabulous. Oh goodness - she's turning into a teenager before my (closed) eyes.

Later as we got ready to go out I asked her to get her brush so I could help her with her hair "NO MAMA!"
"Why not sweetie?"
"You'll brush the short out and I don't want it long again."
Ahhh - still six after all.