Hair Goals and Rubber Band Regrets

By: Sara Schreiner

Not about world peace or financial freedom—something far more specific: I dreamed of having a daughter whose hair looked like she had just stepped out of a baby salon every single day. Polished. Perfect. Not a strand out of place. The toddler version of a Pantene commercial.

And when Sophia-Jo was born, she delivered.

She rocked giant headbands with the confidence of a tiny pageant queen. Bows the size of grapefruit? Yes. Fabric flowers larger than her actual head? Absolutely. Her baby pictures look like I was training her for a Target ad.

I loved every minute.

Until she turned two. And developed opinions. And motor skills. And the uncanny ability to weaponize both at once.

Hair time became less “bonding moment” and more “wrestling an angry raccoon armed with a vocabulary and a hairbrush.” There was flailing. There was howling. There were tears—from both of us.

On this particular morning, I had just survived one of those sessions. By some miracle, I had secured two small ponytails on her head. Sure, I had minor hearing loss and a stress twitch in my left eye, but we did it.

She looked adorable. I looked like I’d just completed a triathlon.

Feeling victorious, I did what no tired, mildly overconfident parent should ever do: I walked away.

Just for a minute. Just to use the bathroom. Alone.

As I was pulling up my pants, I heard it. Gagging. Again.

I sprinted out to find Greg—my husband, the more medically calm one—holding Sophia upside down, performing toddler back thrusts like a discount superhero.

Rubber bands—many rubber bands—came flying out of her mouth and onto the floor like horrifying, pastel-colored party confetti.

Apparently, while I was basking in my bathroom-based freedom, Sophia had seized the opportunity to grab a fistful of tiny elastic bands and shove them into her mouth like they were a new snack category.

And why wouldn’t she? She’s two. The line between food and non-food is more of a suggestion at that age.

Greg and I locked eyes in a mutual look of we are not okay. Sophia blinked once, adjusted her shirt, and calmly asked for a snack. Like nothing had happened.

Parenting Takeaway

The dream was that she’d always look like she just left a beauty salon.
The reality? She tried to eat the salon accessories.

I’ve come to accept that parenting isn’t about creating picture-perfect moments—it’s about surviving the real ones with at least one rubber band left and your sense of humor intact.

And on this day? She kept the ponytails. We kept our sanity. And I now store all hair accessories on the highest possible shelf.