My eyes got misty when my baby's curls fell on the floor.
No more shaggy hair. Just like that, my baby is simply not a baby any more. He's a big boy with "big boy hair."
I think my heart will break.
He is darling, and proud of his new 'do, and I am delighted that my littlest boy is growing up so sweet. "I am a good manners boy," he told me on the way out of the salon. And he is.
But my heart...not broken, but oh, these little ones. No one told me about this part of being Mom. The part where your throat gets tight and you have to pretend that there's something in your eye because it just wouldn't do to cry over a few curls on the floor right there in the haircut shop. The thing is, you'd think by now, by the fifth little one, I'd be used to this. Five firsts--steps, words, lost teeth, haircuts, riding bikes, tying shoes, reading, swimming. Each year five more birthdays to make me cry a little. Celebrating and mourning at the same time. Saying, "Go, little one, go!" and thinking, "Wait! I'm not ready!" when the first snip sends a drift of curls down.
I am so proud of my big boy. Of all of my little ones. They're growing up to be strong and beautiful and exactly who they are meant to be.
Hug your babies tight, the big and the small. Life is good.