guess what?

We finally gave our baby boy a real, down-home, honest-to-goodness haircut.
Make that three haircuts.
We sat in the bathroom.
I held him on my lap.
I stroked his lovely, mangy blond curls one last time,
And I cried.
It was time.
The hockey hair had. to. go.
Jeff took his clippers and matter-of-factly went to work; up the back and sides.
I kept whispering in a curved little ear "mama is sad. mama is sad."
{Because I am dramatic and nostalgic like that.}
G looked back at me, with confused yet compassionate eyes and said "sad mama."
And a thousand little blond curls hit the floor.
We left the top alone, because I wasn't sure I wanted it just 1" long like all the rest.
And then we slept on it.
I trimmed it a little bit more the next day, because it was so uneven and terrible.
And trimmed it again the day after that, because he seriously still looked like this!
And on the fourth day, I accepted it.

We whacked off a whole lot more than we did the first time.
We didn't even take pictures this time.
It was all hands on deck and I was even more teary-eyed than before.
Someone has to stop all of this growing up. I can't stand it anymore.
Our little blue-eyed baby, now has a neck.
He's still the same sweet little boy, with the same sweet little voice,
but in a big boy's body.