Jack and I are both follicly challenged this morning. He apparently slept upside down in his crib, because when I went in to get him this morning his hair was sticking straight up on one side, a la Flock of Seagulls circa 1984.
As for me, I got a hair "cut" yesterday. I asked the woman to leave it a little longer on the top, but she decided to give me the "Britney" instead. Poor Jack barely recognized me this morning. "Don't worry, Dad," he seemed to be saying, "we'll find the butcher who did this to you." At least it grows back.
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