My little girl asked me to cut her hair. And my heart sank. I hoped, in vain, that her feverish little mind would forget. But she didn't. She asked again.
The best picture I could find of her long hair.
So with a heavy heart I twisted her waist length hair into a rubber band. I braided it and ended it with another one. I asked her to please sit still. I sawed through, right above the rubber band. The sound of the scissors made it hard to breath. I evened it out and added little layers so it didn't look like we'd put a bowl over her head. I sent her upstairs to see what she thought and sat there covered in her babyhood.
Her first week
She had so much hair when she was born, people would comment on it all the time. And she smelled so sweet. I would lay next to her and bury my face in her little head and wish that we could bottle it. For times when she didn't want to be held or when she became a teenager and started to smell bad. I remembered mornings of braiding her hair into pigtails. I remembered her stubbornly "brushing" her hair and not getting a single tangle out. I remember her trying to brush it with her doll brush and whipping it around asking if she was a princess. I felt like I was going to cry but tears wouldn't come. But my chest hurt and my hands felt heavy. My husband asked "Why are you just sitting there covered in hair?" I reluctantly got up and brushed my lap off onto the Phineas and Ferb towel we'd sat on. I gathered it up and threw the remains in the trash. I tried to pretend that it didn't matter. My baby had made a big girl choice and I had to accept it. But it scared me and I don't have to like it.
After. I think I did an okay job.
Any milestones that hurt your heart?