Wednesday, January 12
I swore off cutting my baby's hair because it took him so long to grow it in the first place. I look back at his first birthday pictures and still he has no hair. When he turned two, he had some hair, hair that was finally long enough to at least brush and with curls. So, naturally when family members started complaining that it was to long or he looked like a girl, I held my ground refusing to even trim his beautiful locks. But in the course of things, even Henry said it was getting into his eyes. A teeny trim here, a teeny trim there, finally there was no way around it, he needed a hair cut. Yesterday seemed to be a day of many firsts and as the day was winding down, Henry was getting ready for bed, I decided to take the scissors and cut away, cut away all that remained of my baby. As his golden locks fell to the floor I wept. For this really was the last strands of everything he was up till now, all that he and I have been through, everything I have known to be safe, all that I could control and protect him from. Even though my arms hold him tight, I guess this is the first step for me in letting go.