The boys all got haircuts yesterday. HeroBoy got the pre-summer buzz– not quite a buzz, but real tight! The Duke got his curls curtailed. His is a little longer, but nice and sharp looking. And Chipmunk, well, that poor baby got shorn like a sheep. The lady just kept cutting and cutting, and before I knew it, it was all gone.
Now, you know, we are not a long-hair-on-boys kind of family. Sometimes we let the curls grow out a little, but we like them to look like little men. But I have to admit, I wasn’t ready for the big boy haircut on little Chipmunk. I suppose having it coincide with his second birthday was just a bit overwhelming for me. He looks cute, he looks like a little soldier. But I’m used to his magic curls, and I miss them. I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready….
It’s become a mantra lately, with all of them.
You really can’t think about it. You have to cloak yourself in denial or distract yourself with busyness, because if you stop for a minute and think about what’s happening— it hurts! Ouch! Double ouch! Owie, owie! Blow on it or something!!!
I suppose this REALLY obvious and unavoidable signal that my youngest is getting BIG, is an inescapable reminder of what I’m not ready to admit. My babies are growing, right before my eyes. My babies are almost not babies anymore.
Okay, I’m stopping. Back to denial. This post never happened. I’m not crying, why would I be crying? (Defense mechanisms fully in place.)
I’ll take a picture of them with their new ‘dos later, so we can “not” weep together.
PS. We’re celebrating Chipmunk’s birthday this weekend, and I’ll post about that, too.