It's Just Hair

Grady hates having his hair cut so we let it grow long between trims. His hair is soft and doesn't grow longer so much as it grows bigger into the most perfect golden curls. Today, totally out of the blue, he told me he wanted a haircut. I didn't think twice before seizing the opportunity because it could be another six months before he lets us near his mane.

It's silly to be sad about hair, isn't it? 

Grady's first haircut happened a week after I was diagnosed with cancer. We knew it had to happen eventually - his hair was constantly getting in his eyes and it bothered Shawn that strangers would approach us when we were out in public to tell us how gorgeous our daughter was. Grady had discovered how fun it was to smear peanut butter in his hair and on the third consecutive day of trying to wash peanut butter out of ringlets, the week we'd celebrated Mother's Day and Shawn's birthday and been hit by my diagnosis and everything was just a little raw, I gave up and instead of washing his hair, I cut it. It was all too much, you know? 

I mourned that first haircut. Grady went from looking like a baby to looking like a little kid. I didn't regret cutting his hair and it obviously didn't change how I felt about him, I just felt a little sad to say goodbye to a piece of his babyhood. 

I feel that way again tonight. It doesn't make any sense. Grady has had other haircuts since his first. I'm not mourning the loss of his babyhood because he hasn't been a baby for a really long time. He's an awesome little kid and I'm so lucky I get to be his mama. 

As time passes and the age gap between Grady and a hypothetical future sibling grows, I am feeling less and less hopeful that I will have another baby. It seems insurmountable, you know? The health stuff has to line up with Shawn and I being in a good enough place to want to tackle the dreaded newborn years again and that doesn't even factor in the possibility that I may not be able to get pregnant again. 

A haircut has me questioning my entire existence is what I'm saying. 

So tonight I will rock my golden-haired boy in the rocking chair we bought and assembled while I was too pregnant to be much help beyond reading the instruction booklet, and tomorrow I'll make pancakes for my awesome little kid and listen as he describes the dreams he had about brave knights and red dragons (his knights are always brave and his dragons are always red. Always.) And I will make a conscious effort to try to be happy about the right now instead of feeling sad about the past or worried about the future because my right now is pretty wonderful.