My son has the most beautiful curls. I remember when his hair started growing as a baby and a little ringlet appeared. My momma heart was bursting with excitement. Yes, I will admit something as superficial as a curl made me squeal.
The kid just has adorable hair—and where does this wondrous flow come from? He didn’t inherit it from me, and his dad doesn’t have a curl to boot either. In a way, it’s become my youngest’s trademark.
The day came for his first haircut, and then his second one.
I remember watching his curls fall to the ground and promptly picking one up and placing it in a ziplock bag. I’ve since made peace with the fact that I’m that mom who has little baggies of hair, baby teeth, and the like. Regardless of my eccentric nature, the sentimental part of me is always game for preserving a memory or two.
My baby rocked short hair for a couple of years, and then guess what? Long hair was back in style! Much to my surprise, he wanted to grow out the flow. This mom was not objecting. Would his little curls appear once more? The anticipation was real.
Spoiler alert—they readily reappeared, and my heart burst all over again with the cuteness. His locks looked great under his baseball caps and hockey helmet.
This kid could rock long hair, and I was all here for it.
Until summer hit and his bangs covered his eyes.
“I want a haircut!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, like a trim?” I suggested.
“No, I want it all gone . . . short again.”
As he said those words I didn’t feel like I was losing just the curls, I felt like I was losing my baby as well. He voiced his opinion now, and it wasn’t always going to align with mine.
He was simply growing up whether I was ready or not.
So as the barber was cutting his curls, in a way, I was cutting an apron string at the same time.
Maybe it wasn’t just the curls I was holding on to after all, but his youth and the memories all intertwined. Those ringlets had a hold on me, the same way I tried to have a hold on my baby. But he is growing into himself, long hair or short, and I’m just going to have to be OK with it.
It doesn’t hurt that hair grows back either. And who knows, maybe one day he’ll decide to grow it again. Either way, he’ll always be my curly-haired baby boy.