Little girls are pretty in pink, but I guess that doesn't matter

There’s just no pretty way to say it.
I’ve got a bald baby.
And under some circumstances, this is perfectly fine. Like if she was a boy. But she’s not. She’s a beautiful little bald sixteen month-old girl.
Instantly, parents of bald baby girls reading this are all nodding their head and smiling in sympathy because they too have endured the same stress as I face on a daily basis. They too have been asked “how old is he?” or heard comments like “look at that little guy go!” as they have watched their daughters toddle along. I’m not sure if I speak for those parents, but as for myself, it is frightfully annoying. And not so much for me, because I’ve gotten used to correcting people. It’s making those people feel brainless and blind that makes it so difficult.
Because those people really are brainless and blind, and I know this because I go to great lengths to make my daughter appear girly with her short-top hair-do, and still nothing works.
I was having coffee with a friend when an acquaintance of ours walked up and noticed my baby. “Well isn’t he a cute little guy,” said the man. (I’ve found that older men in particular are the absolute worst when it comes to calling my daughter a “son.”) I looked at him, and then I looked at my “cute little guy” who was dressed in, no lie, a pink sweater, pink pants, pink shoes, pink coat, and purple hat. Apparently I didn’t work hard enough, or that man dressed his sons in head to toe pink (which is perfectly fine, I would like to add.)
And because the frilly wardrobe doesn’t seem to be working, I’ve recently resorted to adding hair accessories to the thirty-three strands of hair that range anywhere from .5 to 2.3 inches long. This requires great patience, nimble fingers, stealthy speed, and I’m assuming a miracle because I can’t for the life of me get anything to stay in there.
There are the clips that you have to press so hard to get fastened that I’m afraid I’m going to punch a hole right through her head. And no matter which type I try, they each fall out after only a few minutes. I admit I have thought long and hard about some sort of Elmer’s adhesive.
Or don’t forget the ever-popular itty bitty rubber bands that allow mothers to dress their young girls to resemble Pebbles, building ponytails on the tops of little heads that are just begging for a bone to complete the outfit. I have tried these little rubber bands as well, but I think it’s akin to wrapping a bungee cord around a toothpick—a daunting task, nearly impossible, and you know someone’s going to get hurt. In our case, the person getting hurt is me, because as much as I know how painful it must be for her to have her few pieces of hair tugged on and pulled out (there are always a few dozen casualties), I’m the one getting batted in the face and poked in the eye as I’m being dragged around the room.
Some mothers of bald baby girls go so far as to pierce their daughter’s tiny ears, and while I think diamond studs and golden hoops look darling on some darlings and pretty much clear up the whole “how old is he?” controversy, I’m just not ready to do that. Yet.
But if the hair doesn’t grow, I’m considering it. Either that or a wig.