First hair cut

After two years, ten months of growing, I took Smella to have her hair cut. It took a long time for her to have any hair; she was still almost bald at her first birthday. But now, it seems she has an inordinate amount of curly, baby-fine hair, wispy and soft. And constantly in her eyes. When asked, "Who has crazy hair?" she would sigh and say, "I do."

So it was time. She was so excited. And aside from the fact that she spoke not one word the whole entire time, she had fun. I could tell. The stylist gushed over her white blond curls, saying over and over how beautiful it was. Smella wouldn't respond, but I could see her eyes twinkle with happiness.

When all was said and done, she looked so much older. She no longer had the long, uneven tendrils of baby hair, but an actual cut. Where she had lopped off a section in the front a few months ago, there were perfectly neat bangs. She grinned and reached her arms for me to help her down off her boostered chair.

In that moment, I saw my baby girl's future in those big blue eyes. Her Kindergarten school picture. Her first grade school picture without those little baby teeth she's sporting now. Her first boyfriend. Her first dance. Broken heart. Wedding. Baby. I sucked back tears and lowered her to the floor.

As I paid for her cut, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she twirled and danced on the smooth hardwood floor, innocently and unabashedly. She took my hand, and as soon as we stepped out of the door, she broke her shy silence and chattered constantly the whole way home.

I'm really hoping she doesn't need her hair trimmed any time soon. I'm not sure my heart can take it.