When you were born, I never thought that I might be measuring you in the state of your hair. You arrived with a bunch of the stuff that was sort of dark and a little wavy, and it had your father and I scratching our heads and saying: Huh? Where did that come from?
We stumbled through those sleep-deprived first weeks and months, and I don't really remember you losing hair, but suddenly it seems there was a new crop. Early pictures show a grinning blondie with an initial strip of hair focused in the center, prompting at least one email from Grandpa saying: Who gave the kid a mohawk? The mohawk filled in and kept going, and we all marveled at your cherub curls. I occasionally got a scissors to your bangs, to make sure you could see, but we left your lion's mane to bounce behind you as you ran on your many new adventures.
I never thought that it would be at 2.5 years old you would be getting your first official hair cut. You were a trooper, only really crying when the lady got out her spray bottle full of water to wet down your hair. It was time. The weather is getting hotter, and I know that you certainly won't miss brushing the hair out of your eyes or pulling it away from your mouth when you're trying to eat (or my trying to comb a knot out of the back of your head). We think fondly of your long locks... but seeing our new big boy come padding into our room (yes, even at 6am) makes us smile.