Kids will make milestones. They are celebrations of growth. They are moments in time we want to freeze. They are specks on the radar of life where I lose my ever lovin’ mind. Yes, of course, I want my children to have these milestones. I know it reflects that they are becoming their own person. I do cherish each stage for what it is. But, Heavens to Betsy, I’m insanely sentimental, and as I get older it has reached profusely obnoxious levels. Two and half years my son’s hair grew. As I stood in the salon, I thought, “Those are the exact hairs that were on his head when I gave birth to him. Those very hairs were the ones he had in the womb.” Oh, Sheradee, come down from the crazy place. You are not going to keep those tiny baby hairs God formed on his head there until he’s 23. Or can I? Can I grab him and run right now? What was intended to be his first haircut, was a glamorous trim. I’ll admit it. My husband insisted we take him to the sweet stylist, Karen, who use to cut my husband’s hair. Karen is on the short list. You know the incredibly short list of women allowed to kiss my boys.
I love Karen, and I knew I could con her into leaving the curls. I secretly knew she’d be on my side. So, we loaded up and road tripped 45 minutes. He fell asleep on the way there.
Karen kissed all over his precious cheeks while she casually trimmed his blonde locks all the while he was nearly comatose from not having a nap.
He slept while my last grip on his babyhood fell to the floor in chunks. I kept every last hair…every last womb hair I kept until I had a hairball like you’ve never seen. The trim was indeed casual, as there wasn’t much hair gone. I couldn’t stand to actually “cut” his hair as in a visible difference in length cut. A few weeks passed, and I knew it was time. Time to stop living in denial that I might be raising Samson.
I was raising a boy genius yes (notice the t-shirt), so wisdom he already had, however, it was a haircut he needed.
This time we went to Andrea, a stylist who is not a road trip away. And this time, the boy was awake. Wide awake.
I’m certain I looked this side of ridiculous grabbing each blonde curl as it hit the floor and tucking it away into my womb hair envelope.
The boy, however, rather enjoyed his haircut.
So much so that he asked me to take him to “Disney World” after ward (also known as Barnes & Noble to the reading world).
He shook the stray pieces of hair from his cape onto the sparkling salon floor, and just like that, the womb hair was gone. His boy hair curled up just enough to frame his face with the cutest little pieces over his tiny ears.
That face I’ve been in love with since I saw it. It was slightly different, slightly more grown up than before the cut.
It was perfect. He was still a boy genius, I have a ziploc bag full of womb hair to pull out and show his future girlfriends, and he still believes Barnes & Noble is Disney World. Everyone wins.