I’ve been ignoring the rumbles and the side glances, twisting the curls around my fingers while pushing long strands out of his eyes. Unlike his sister, who was born with hair, his crept in slowly, silky strands that grew to curl at the base of his neck.
Cutting it after it worked so hard to grow in seemed unfair.
Still, after a week’s worth of pulling his hair out of seeping, weepy, pink-eyed, sinus-infected, sad blue eyes, I felt myself cave. (And who let these germs loose on our house, by the way?)
Snow was falling as the four of us piled into the car, Abbey excited about getting her hair cut, my heart inexplicably heavy, as though his very baby-ness was woven into the locks curling softly against his collar.
Reluctant to wear the cape, we coaxed it around his neck with a stuffed Mickey Mouse in one hand and a Peter Rabbit book in the other. Knowing our squirmy boy, I held him on my lap as golden strands of his first two years fell to the floor, a few safely tucked into an envelope, unsure if their magic was lost or expanded as they left his head.
He grew impatient by the end of the cut, whining and trying to pull off the cape. Unable to distract him with stories or pictures of elephants, we pulled out our trump card-the lollipop. Mollified, he gripped it without licking it, thankfully, as a hair-encrusted sucker doesn’t sound at all appealing.
I never thought I would be a mom who cared too much about hair. Truly.
But this feels different than cutting hair. He’s our baby, and now suddenly he looks like a little boy. I’m in love with this little man running around our house now, but it might be a few more days until I can admit to myself that we’re slowly rounding the bend from having babies to having children.
Most moments, I’m excited about moving forward, about thoughts that we’ll potty train this year and start taking family vacations that don’t involve a pack and play.
But in the darkness, my head on my pillow, I think of the way they don’t fit in my arms in quite the same way anymore. And I’m thankful I have a certain envelope on my bookshelf, for the day when I can’t quite remember the way his hair curled.
Dylan this Saturday
she wanted a hair cut, too
four inches for my almost-four year old
linking up with Shell
have you checked out her new design?
Welcome to Tread Softly! My name is Angela Amman, and I'm a freelance writer, lifestyle blogger and managing editor of an on-line writing community. I run for fun, write short stories and write non-fiction looking at the world through the lens of a mother to young children.