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In my career as a parent, there have only been a few times when I’ve made mistakes that cause my heart to drop. Most of these times Miss M was small and didn’t notice or care. At around 11am today, I had some of the worst few moments of my mothering life.

Miss M has the most beautiful, fast growing hair. It’s nearly impossible to care for, because she hates brushing it, hates me brushing it, and won’t wear it pulled back because she loves having it out. Sometimes in the mornings when she wakes up, she looks like some little mad Neanderthal woman, with a crazy birds nest of hair - gorgeous, but not really practical.

After the market this morning, I decided we had to brush it. The routine is Miss M brushes first, then I go through and get yelled at for finding all the knots she’s left. Because she’s been to the pool a couple of times this week, her hair was far worse, and for what must have been the millionth time I told her it was too long to look after. For the first time ever, she told me to cut it off. Knowing I had to quickly capitalise on her decision, I carefully worked out where I’d cut it to, showed her, then got the scissors and went to work.

Let me mention the last time I cut anyone’s hair (other than using clippers on my own) was when my poor boyfriend Matt let me use scissors on him when I was about nineteen. The next day he went to work wearing a hat, and had his head shaved at lunchtime. But cutting long hair is easier … right?

I pulled out all the hairdresser knowledge I’ve picked up over the years - using my fingers to work out where to cut, taking my time … but nothing prepared me for how much hair came off, and how short it suddenly seemed … way shorter than I’d told Miss M I’d cut it. It was also a little uneven, but I saw if I kept going, she’d end up bald, so I hid the hair I’d cut off (more than most adults will ever have in their life), and told her to go into the bathroom and look at her new do.

For the next couple of minutes I suppressed the urge to vomit with fear, expecting a scream and the result of two years of Karate lessons flailing into me, but instead there was silence - which made me even more terrified.

“Mummy - I love it”, were the sweetest words I’ve ever heard in my life. Miss M came out with the hugest smile, stroking her smooth hair, which is in an intriguing asymetrical, slightly feathered bob. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. It actually looks really good - more a testament to her beauty than my ability as a hair artiste. So here’s a photo, and next time, I’m taking her to an outside party, who doesn’t have to fear reprisals.

Happily, as well as having a great new hairstyle, Miss M has fully recovered from yesterday’s illness, best illustrated by her demand for sausage, eggs and bacon in Turkish bread at the market this morning. It’s good to have her back!

Today I’m loving: my new super organised kitchen cupboards, now divested of all out of date items, complete with labelled screw top jars. Scary!