My favorite part

Luc was born with a good amount of hair. It was dark and fine and long, growing from a sweet little spiral at the back of his head. It was oily and soft, and covered the ridges of his bumpy newborn skull in neat little lines. It was the first part of him that I saw, in the mirror during his birth, and the first part of him that I carefully studied in those first few days of motherhood. I often told people that his hair was my favorite part of him.

When he was a few weeks old, most of his hair fell out. Only the long strands in the back remained, falling inadequately over his flaky scalp. He was this way, a bald little man with a serious case of dandruff and a bad comb-over, for another month or so.

But as Winter arrived, so did tiny sprouts of new hair, thickly spaced on top of his head. The new hair grew fast, and soon became a full streak of deep, dark brown.

Especially when he was an infant, people always commented on his hair. Look how much hair he has! It's so dark! What a beautiful head of hair! And I beamed. I loved his hair. Even though I'd usually point out that he was still quite bald in the back.

But as he grew, so did his hair of course. It eventually filled out in the back and reached his eyebrows in the front. There was so much of it! It was wild, never knowing which direction it wanted to be combed.

I formed a habit early on of gently stroking his hair while I nursed him, pushing it off of his face and tucking it behind his ears, and he found comfort in twirling it around his fingers as he fell asleep. Watching him do this made my heart swell until I felt like it might burst! It was an integral part of our quiet moments together.

And this Summer, his locks took on an almost auburn sheen in the sun. The East coast humidity made his hair wavy, and little curls appeared above his ears and at the nape of his neck. It was so beautiful, so simple and natural. I loved everything about his hair. It was, without a doubt, my favorite part.

Have you guessed yet where I'm going with this post?

I had been agonizing for weeks (months, really) over Luc's first haircut, daydreaming about it nervously. I imagined myself taking before and after pictures and holding back tears as I carefully snipped a precious little lock to keep. I imagined us doing it at home, or maybe taking him to a salon where the stylist is a friend of the family. Either way I imagined it, it was definitely going to be a big production. It was going to be, after all, his one and only first haircut! Or should I say, his first trim, because I never imagined cutting off more than a quarter to a half an inch or so, just enough to get it out of his eyes.

But that's not how it went down. Not at all. Instead, last Thursday, while SD was giving him a bath... he took out the scissors and hacked it all off.

No pictures. No lock of hair. No big production. And it was certainly no trim.