Kieran’s hair was perfectly shaggy last fall. It fit him. It matched his smily personality, his rugged explorer’s soul. Corey and I loved watching him run around the football field where his big brother played.
He was laughing, always laughing, his hair bouncing with the joy waves coming straight from his heart.
But time, as we all know, doesn’t stand still. Fall changed to winter (or something resembling winter) and Kieran’s hair grew. Soon, it was in his eyes, always brushing his lashes. I developed a hobby out of brushing it back for him, swooping it to the side.
“There’s my handsome boy,” I would smile, and he would smile back and give me a big hug. (Or as he says it, a “BEE huh.”)
Eventually, I could ignore it no longer. With the sigh of a woman who admits defeat, I scheduled an appointment with our stylist. “But a TRIM! Only a trim!” I said, adamantly. “I don’t want a big boy cut yet.”
Of course, Kieran being Kieran, he didn’t particularly enjoy the pampering. It took us several tries over several days to even clip the edges off and give him a clear viewpoint.
And even that didn’t last long. The shaggy layers that made him look so rugged in the fall grew out. The hair was in his eyes again. Only this time, it was more of a bowl cut, like he was auditioning for a boy band in the ‘90s.
I’ll be honest. It wasn’t his best look. It gave me the strength to do what I knew had to be done.
Last Saturday, we went on a mother-and-son outing to our favorite Aveda clinic. Coffee was required (for me). And donuts (for both of us).
He’s a big boy now.
I can’t stop staring.
Consolation prize: With the locks gone, the chubby cheeks are more pronounced.
My baby's still in there.