From baby curls, to the other "short&curlies"

......Oh yes, I went there.  I really did. This particular blog was inspired by familial pressure, sympathy, and sadness.  I'll start at the beginning- My youngest son is 2 years, 2 months, 17 days old.  He was our unexpected little cuddle bug- our older two are 11 and 9.  So I guess I can cross "have a surprise baby" off my bucket list! lol but I digress, back to the tale.  I have not wanted to cut the baby's hair, as this is my last child (unless there is another surprise baby waiting in the wings), and I didn't want to admit to myself that he is growing up (far too quickly), so I was just allowing it to grow wild- his hair, not the baby- rather like what I picture John the Baptist may have looked like in the wilderness.  My husband, mother-in-law, mother, and the rest of the world, were all against me. {familial pressure} The constant "he needs a haircut" lament was usually met on my end by "Okay, I'll cut one when we get home."  Even his big brothers were getting in on it though; the day that we went to my older son's basketball game and the concession stand manager called the baby a girl, was the last straw for my husband.  He kept at me, pestering and cajoling, but I stood firm!  I did not want to see the baby curls flutter to the floor, taking with them the last vestiges of babyhood...Why? You ask? Let me tell you why.  As the baby curls fall to the floor, it's like a magical, invisible, infusion of testosterone suddenly appears, turning your sweet, cherubic, cuddly baby boy into a rough and tumble, "snakes and snails and puppy dog tails", little boy.  B-O-Y.  Scraped knees, bloody noses, broken windows, BOY.  They start to get crushes, and have girlfriends, and play sports, and suddenly Mommy isn't the center of their little world anymore.  And that creature will eventually hit puberty and come sauntering in one day to announce proudly "Guess what? I'm growing hair....down there....", just like his big brother did to me a few weeks ago.  And that is the transition I dread the most- I miss my baby boys and their absolute certainty that the sun rose and set for Mommy, I miss watching cartoons with them, and doing exercise DVD's while they napped...now, with our oldest clearly enamored of girls, and they of him, I feel like I don't know if I'd be properly preparing myself or cursing myself, if I were to start watching "Teen Mom" on MTV.  You know- just so if anything were to happen, I'd know how to talk to my oldest's girlfriend in a few years....
Back to the haircut- I caved.  I folded like a cheap paper plate on Superbowl Sunday.... It happened as I was going to pick up the older two boys from getting haircuts, and my mother in-law, bless her heart (we'll get to that in a later post), said "Carol, you really need to cut his hair."  To which I responded, "Okay, I'll cut one when I get home." ...but then I looked in the rearview mirror, and my gaze was met by my precious, little baby boy- or rather he attempted to meet my gaze- but his hair was hanging in his face and his eyes kept crossing.  I thought about how miserable I would be to have sweaty hair hanging in my face, given how much it bothers me to have sweaty hair on my neck at the gym. {sympathy} I contemplated buying him a little camouflage bandanna, but decided that was a bit too redneck- even for this family...so I drove straight to the shop, sat it the chair snuggling my baby boy, and watched as the baby curls fell to the floor...{sadness} As soon as he was sufficiently groomed, I set him down to brush the stray hairs from my lap, and he laughed, looked at his older brothers and grunted "feed me more"- apparently a reference to a WWE wrestler.  And so it begins......and ends *sigh*