Once I had a baby, and he had baby curls.
I thought they were permanent, and I gave him a haircut. The curls fell to the floor, and my heart sunk, and if that sounds dramatic you haven’t had a little boy with baby curls that you cut in a first born moment of milestone chasing. It was tragic.
With my first born, I focused on accomplishments. My mommy heart got all excited about first foods, and first teeth, and first haircuts. Then I turned around one day and Quinten’s brushing his own teeth and I realized that baby time is short, and there’s no going back.
I gave birth to another baby, and his hair was blond, and curly, and precious. I swore I wouldn’t cut his curls too soon. So Sheldon’s hair kept growing, and growing, and uh, growing. It got a little crazy. I didn’t care. It was so cute.
The boy has been my baby for two years, he gets away with highway robbery on account of his cuteness.
In the meantime he’s been making me laugh with his playful attitude. He likes to run around and pretend to be Batman.
He likes to do Cookie Monster impressions. He likes to dress up.
He’s into hats.
Here are some photos from today. I didn’t put these hats on him, I just turned around and BAM! There he was, wearing an interesting hat.
On the way to swimming lessons. Note that Q needs a haircut too. I think I’m still traumatized from the first, unexpected curl killing haircut. I kind of like it that way: messy and artistic?
At Grandma’s house…wearing Grandma’s hat…
I know this is a precious, precious picture. I also knew, when I saw it, that it was finally time to give Samson a haircut. I guess I draw the line at shoulder length.
I saw the finished result (Derrick’s handiwork), and my heart melted
because he is so stinking cute/grown up looking
And he was so proud of himself with his big boy haircut
…of course, the Thomas Train pajamas kept things in perspective.
He’s big. Well, bigger.
But I’m keeping the pajamas.