Chloe (my 3 year old) wanted to play hair salon.

I doubled down on Tylenol and Advil before subjecting myself to the torture chamber that is, “Madame Chloe’s Little Shop of Tangles” and sat crossed legged on the floor.

Biting down on a damp cloth, well before the pain killers had kicked in, I had lost a significant amount of hair, saw almost all of my highlights in clumps, pooling around me on the floor.

Madame Chloe used foreign objects to scrape my scalp, massage my shoulders and did it all while giggling.

I can take it. I can take it. I’m a Mom. This is what we do. This is what we live for. Wait until she sees her masterpiece. Her face will say it all. Hair and skin cells will grow back but allowing a three year old this artistic freedom?

Priceless.

Except when she stepped around the front of my face for the grand unveiling, her comment surprised us all.

“Nope, not pretty yet Mom.”