When The Boy was little, haircuts were tortuous. I gave him one at home exactly once. Plopped him in his high chair, and it went OK, besides the fact that it took me two hours… After that, we went to the Fantastic Sam’s, or the Great Clips, or whatever was the latest one in the strip mall nearby, and he would scream and cry, and I just didn’t know how else to do it. Some of the ladies cutting his hair were lovely people. Others were less than lovely, roughly yanking his chin this way and that, easily frustrated by his inability to be calm and compliant. This was all before his diagnosis, of course.
Then I had an epiphany and we began to bring a milkshake with us, which kept him happy and distracted.
Nowadays, I don’t even have to go with him. Sometimes he goes with his Poppy, sometimes with The Man. He still isn’t a fan of the clippers, but he has come a long way since needing a milkshake just to get through it.
And when he’s done nowadays, he looks like a man. *sigh*…