Mark always tells me that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and though that’s a gross exaggeration, there is a kernel of truth to his accusation: I do indulge in some obsessive behaviors. However, last I checked, I still could leave the house without ritualistically rubbing the light switch 200 times.
I worry, though, that I may have passed some of my anxiety-driven neuroses on to Ava. Tonight, at bedtime, she was missing her daddy greatly. It actually was very sweet to see how much she was pining for him. What was NOT so sweet was that she had once AGAIN (for like the millionth time in the last year) twisted the left side of her hair into a knot–and then (for the first time in the history of her twisting) RIPPED the knot out in a huge clump!!! I discovered the sweaty little hairball clutched tightly in her fist when I tried to hold her hand. When I turned on the light, I was confronted with a large section of hair, RIGHT IN FRONT, that had been shredded halfway up her head.
ARGH!! Just today, I had to take her for yet another haircut, to try to even out the sparse left side of her hair, which she twists so cruelly that it won’t even grow. This is how she ended up with a short bob, when all I ever wanted was to put her hair up in braids and pigtails. I used to be able to do that–even a year ago–until this incessant hair twisting began, and now all I do is cut her hair shorter each month, in a vain attempt to even out both sides.
Why am I so upset about this? I suppose it’s vanity and sexism, on my part, but I can’t help it: I just think that little girls in pigtails and long hair look so cute. However, I know this is a culturally driven, sexist ideal. And from what I’ve read online tonight, these kinds of “bad habits” actually are developmentally appropriate coping mechanisms, common in children her age.
Anyway, dear readers, what should I do to help her stop?! I’ve been thinking of buying some synthetic hair extensions and sending them to bed with her, so that she can twist that hair instead. If I don’t do something, she’ll be bald by age five–and I’ll be ritualistically rubbing the light switches!