One of the joys of motherhood is learning from my mother. Some of her lessons, though, make me think she might be insane. Recently, my husband and I took our little guy for his first haircut, much to the chagrin of my mother. He’s less than a year old and, in her mind, to have his hair cut before he turns one is blasphemous.

I will admit I was hesitant to do it. Heck, hubby wanted to do it when he was four months old, but for practical reasons, like his head was still wobbly and he couldn’t sit up on his own, I convinced him we had to wait. I finally caved a few weeks before Thanksgiving when we realized the little guy could now rock a man bun. Or would it be a baby bun? I digress…

I took before and after photos and filmed the whole experience, and shared it with our family. My mother immediately called and asked why we did it and said now he isn’t going to talk. My husband and I exchanged a “She’s cray cray” and moved the conversation along. Then she thought that his hair protected his soft spot, a more logical reason not to cut his hair so young. But the damage was already done. We didn’t buzz the whole thing like my husband wanted but instead trimmed it up so at least it all laid flat, and it didn’t look like he was trying to channel Albert Einstein.

It’s important to note that my family is West Indian, so there are old wives’ tales galore. So many, in fact, as I try to think of some to share right now, they are all getting jumbled in my head. Maybe that’s because I ate something that one time that now affects my cognitive thought.

I know that if my son talks as much as he babbles, we’re probably going to wish there was some truth to the whole haircut thing.