R's hair was starting to get really long, which meant that I had to brush/comb it extensively every day. She hated this SO much, and would inevitably howl with rage or cry in pain (I tried every gentle technique possible, but apparently her scalp is very sensitive? or more likely, just the idea of possible pain was enough to upset her). It was no fun for either of us, so I decided the time had come for her first hair cut.
B has always hated haircuts (at one childhood visit he punched the barber hard in the stomach, enough to wind him), and I worried R might have inherited the tendency. So I took her to the children's specialty salon (haircuts include a balloon, candy and viewing of Dora the Explorer) even though it was kind of pricey at $18 per cut (which seems like a lot for a two-year-old). It was surprisingly emotional for me (because usually I am completely unsentimental). It seemed like the official end of baby R: now she's a big girl, with haircuts and everything.
She cooperated beautifully so I bought her a toy as a reward. (She selected a wedding toy, with bride, groom, priest and photographer: we got it because it's what she wanted but it gave me a pang for being so stereotypical and regressive. Guess I will have to get over myself.) Then we went out for brunch: R got French toast.
In other news, I am feeling considerably better and much more able to cope with life. As with the other times I've started medication after being depressed, my main reaction is, "Why didn't I do this earlier???" For which there is no good answer, except that depressed people are not known for their critical thinking skills or logical thinking patterns.