Scissors + Drew = Trouble

Recent days have proven to be a bit trying as Chase has been a giant cranky pants with the appetite of a grown man to boot. I am not kidding when I say that he has increased his formula intake by 50% these last couple of days. If I'm just a couple of minutes late with his new feeding schedule, he starts clutching at his shirt and screaming as if the hunger is eating a hole the size of Chicago in his stomach. It has been exhausting, and at the end of the day, I hand the child off to his father and proceed to watch tv and stuff my face with chocolate until I have fallen into a sugar induced stupor.
So needless to say, I was much looking forward to having dinner with my girlfriends this week. While I was out inhaling the child free air as if I'd never had a breath before, events were unfolding at our house that would forever change the Noodle. Ok...not forever, but for a month at least. You see, since we think the crankies may be caused by incoming teeth, we've been giving Chase Tylenol to try to lessen the poor little guy's pain. Unfortunately, he does not value this act of kindness on our part and therefore often fights the eyedropper full of medicinal goodness as if it contained battery acid. Well, during one of these battles, the hair around his right ear took a hit for the team and thus became covered in cherry flavored tylenol. Thank goodness it was dye free as I feel he's a little young to begin a punk faze. Andy was supposed to wash the gunk out of his hair while I was out flitting the night away. Here is where the trouble begins...
It seems that my husband decided it would be easier to cut--yes cut--the hair rather than wash out the sticky tonic. Sure, he claims that the hair was bugging Chase because it was too long around his ears, but I maintain my assertion that the man was trying to find an easy way out. So little noodle got a hair cut from daddy while mom was across town scarfing down her strawberry shortcake.

It was already 10 by the time I returned home, so I didn't get to see the handy work firsthand, but I knew it was bad by the way Drew mumbled under his breath and averted his eyes when I asked him for details on the evening's events. The next morning when I went to extract the little gremlin from his crib, I almost turned and walked out of the room thinking I had gone into the wrong nursery. This certainly wasn't my child...my child is a baby, an infant, a lil dumpling--certainly not this grown up little boy looking at me through the bars. How can a few little snips from an untrained hand make my little babe appear so much older? It has to be an illusion brought about by the change in hair style because my baby isn't actually going to grow into a little boy. And he certainly isn't going to become a teenager, go off to college, find a girlfriend and get married in Bali by a cruise ship captain. Not going to happen...not on my watch.