Tonight, after cutting Mister's hair, the Caveman asked if he could have a haircut like dad's. So, per his request, and assuming in the heat of the moment that this was indeed actually about hair, I buzzed his little baby scalp.
As it turns out, your little three-year-old's mop is NOT simply hair, but the representation of all that is sweet and endearing about him in his little state, and I am now mournful of that hair that he hated having washed or combed, that was matted to his forehead after sweating from over exertion, that at times would grow to an unmanageable length and sweep the tips of his long lashes as he concentrated on cutting or scribbling some mini masterpiece of destruction, and that he would twirl between his fingers as he drifted off to sleep at night...
Well, his hair is no more, and it is awful and I'm so sad. He used to be cute, now he looks like he is from a prison camp, and my recent research on Google this evening, which I consulted in my despair, has revealed that it takes one month for human hair to grow a mere half of an inch, so it is just really tragic...
May this serve as a cautionary tale for all of you mothers of sweet little shaggy-headed boys...
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