“Da-da! Da-da!” screams the tiniest loud voice in the house.

I walk into my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter’s room. She peaks over the rails of her crib with crazy bed head. It’s at that moment I realize I am about to take another hair raising ride on the ponytail express.

I lift her out of her crib and attempt to comb her hair. I try to follow the most important rule of combing girl hair, always brush from the bottom first to avoid hitting knots. Unfortunately, I get going too fast and brush too high. I hit a knot.

“Ouch, Da-da!” my daughter yells.

“Sorry,” I answer as I get my head back in the game and finish combing her hair safely.

I need to find a way to pull the front of her hair back from her eyes. Her hair accessory drawer is the place to look. I put her on the floor first and off she runs.

“Come here,” I say as I chase after her.

When I finally catch her, she yells and goes limp. Straight down on the floor. It’s like picking up a sack of potatoes as I bring her into the air.

Now she’s furious. I sit her down and reach back to grab a hairband. She continues to thrash her arms and throw back her head, making it nearly impossible to lasso her hair into a ponytail. But I refuse to give up.

After a few more valiant attempts to break free, I finally outlast her. Her hair is ready to be styled. I pull back her hair, spread the hairband between my fingers and… SNAP! The hairband breaks. Come on!

I reach back quickly to grab another hairband as my daughter tries to escape again. Not this time. In one motion, I grab my daughter, pull back her hair and spin the hairband into a ponytail. Sure, it’s crooked and caused a weird lump in the front of her hair, but it’s done. Hair styled.

My daughter stands up, looks at me and touches her hair. Is she going to pull it out?

“Pony,” she said as she turns to walk away. “Thank you, Da-Da”

“You’re welcome,” I respond as I sit back and take a breath.

We’ll do this all again tomorrow when we take another hair raising ride on the ponytail express.