Tuesday, May 30

The Story of a Haircut

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Last week, despite my deep-seated belief that if we were to cut Everett's hair he would no longer resemble a baby but instead would look more like a 50-year-old man, John managed to convince me that the fact that we could no longer see our baby's ears was reason enough that he needed his first haircut. So, with much trepidation (on my part) we loaded him up and headed over to the local kids' salon.

He was an honest-to-goodness angel during the whole process, just sitting in the little plastic car, sucking on his binky and alternating between watching John and I and the Minions movie on the TV. John picked his hairstyle and my contribution was snapping pictures instead of crying. When the scissors and clippers and grape-scented hair wax were all put away, he'd aged into a tiny little man in a green alien poncho, but in the very best way. I'm convinced that the next time I blink he'll be renting a tux for prom. How does this growing up stuff even happen?

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