I also took her to Frenchy's to get her very first ever haircut--just her bangs.
Man, that girl loves being in a beauty salon!
You should have seen her--my wriggly little two-and-a-half year old, perched on that seat for 20 minutes while she not only got her hair bobbed and her bangs trimmed, but also had it round-brushed dry.
She looks so sweet. I'm hoping that when Martin reads this post he will post one of the pictures he took of her (hint hint). She doesn't look like a baby any more. She looks like a big girl now. It makes my heart swell with pride to see her becoming so independent and grown up, at the exact same time that my heart breaks to say goodbye to my little baby.
In other news, Dylan is doing better about Patches. He can talk about him without bursting into tears now, which is a relief. Weirdly, I seem to be the one who is having the hardest time coping. I keep expecting to see him waiting at the window for me to let him in the house. I keep thinking that I'll give him the milk the kids didn't drink at breakfast. I keep looking at his favorite chair, expecting to see him curled up there. Then I remember that he's died, and I get all sad again. I can't stop thinking about his poor broken little body, buried out behind the house in the cold instead of curled up and purring at the foot of my bed, keeping my feet warm while we wait for Martin to come home.
I've had pets before, and lost pets before. We only had Patches for a few months. But he was such a lovely cat, and I honestly miss him more than any other cat I've ever had. I keep thinking about all the things I could have done to keep the accident from happening. I keep hoping that it wasn't him--that another cat who looked a lot like him died that night. I don't know why it's so hard this time.
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