Saturday, November 19, 2011

Making the cut

What a week this has been. By last Sunday evening, I was so preoccupied that I never told you about the very big thing we had done that day.

That delicious floofy cloud is no longer.

Floofy is, too a word. Really.

All gone, floof. I loved you, but it was time.

And now that the soft curls no longer frame his face, suddenly our sweet boy looks a thousand years old. Some clever marketing guru placed an ice cream shop next to the kids' hair cut place, and G and his newly-visible jawline stuff themselves with a scoop of vanilla.

(Now I'm worried you're staring at his jawline and thinking it's deformed. To be clear, you see his jawline, and you also see the shape of his tongue poking into the corner of his mouth. He's beginning to cut his two-year-old molars, and whenever he eats something cold we see him pushing it back onto his tender gums.)

I think it's important not to make too big a deal of these rites of passage. Bat on the other side of the balance, I wouldn't want not to mark their occurrence. So G had his first hair cut. It's nothing, or it's everything, because in the simple act of growing up a little more each day, he's fulfilling his destiny. He's just eating and breathing and sleeping. He's growing his hair follicles. He's going to change the world.

And that will be so much easier to do, now that he doesn't constantly brush the hair out of his face.
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