So the other day I was loooonnngggg overdue for a brow wax. The months of plucking at the strays here and there had turned two nice arches into more of the Golden Arches. Not. a. pretty. sight.
I had no choice but to go to my appointment with the Big Ballerina in tow. Now my brows were bad, but BB's got some serious caterpillars living on her face. It's not something I usually take notice of, but when it comes showtime and I have to apply shadow to her lids, it gets a bit difficult with those furballs in the way. I once took tweezers and plucked out one teeny tiny hair. I may as well have shot the girl in the eye the way she screamed and carried on. Lesson learned. Those caterpillars would not be morphing into butterflies any time soon.
Just for fun, as we walked into the salon, I asked BB, "You want to get your brows waxed too?"
To my surprise she considered it. "Well...let me watch you, and then I'll decide."
She hovered over me. Asking every 30 seconds, "Does it hurt?"
When it was over. And she saw that I was still alive. And wasn't crying. She quietly nodded her head at me.
I was stunned. I was excited. I was... a stage mom. Ready to hoist her up on the table before she could change her mind.
But then I realized. What if she does one strip and freaks out? I can't let her walk around with a bald spot in one of her brows. She had to be fully committed.
I couldn't take the chance. I couldn't let her go through with it. I couldn't... let go. It suddenly felt a little too "Toddlers and Tiaras" to me.
And so we left. Her with her caterpillars. And me with, my baby.
Butterflies are overrated.