My heart broke with the fall of his curls.
Who knew that a first haircut could be so emotional?
The scissors came out. Then the 6 guard razor. And my eyes welled up.
Five minutes later, a 15-year-old boy emerged before me, eating a lollipop, speaking in gibberish and waving, wanting to be taken to get his learner's permit, all in just one snip.
Sure, it may have been turning the slightest mullet-y. Sure, everyone was starting to give me business about the hair over his ears and the crazy-haired-Gene Wilder look that was beginning to develop . But those were his baby curls!
Oh, why did I listen!? Why didn't I just stick with my momtuition? My beautiful little baby and his beautiful little curls.
Because I had a moment of weakness, I tell you. A moment of "Maybe you're right..." And I caved to the pressure.
Then the scissors came out and I changed my mind. I wanted to take it all back; rip off the smock, whisk him out of the jeep-chair, and run. Never looking back.
The lady meant well. She gave the curls a trim. She listened to my directions. I had conceded to the haircut pressurers, mullet only -- leave the baby curls. But she took off just a little and I thought it looked a little silly with just half-curls remaining. And so uttered I those two silly words with my hands over my face and my eyes through my fingers.
"Keep going," I said.
And then that was too much. I had blown it. I had gone way too far and missed the point of "just right."
Now I have an 18-month old who looks all growed up and I did nothing to stop it. I just let it happen. I even asked for it. Paid for it, even.
Oh, time is running away from me and I can't do anything.
My baby's curls are gone and I want to cry.
I wasn't ready for this. There are so many inventions, can't someone figure out a way to stop time?
For even just a minute?