Friday, July 12, 2013
Chalking it up: yesterday when he had hair and today after I cut it
Last night when we got home from childcare and I needed to cook dinner and Dear Boy was whinging up a storm, I opened the back door, handed him two sticks of chalk and left him to it, catching the occasional glimpse of the top of his head out the window.
His beautiful head. With a mop of hair that was starting to irritate the hell out of him, growing over his ears and tickling and itching at him until he scratched at his head like a dog.
So this morning I cut it.
And somehow my beautiful boy looked like a model waif, blinking up at me with his big eyes and his stretched long sleeved onesie slipping off his shoulders. And then after his shower, my baby boy became a big boy, beating round the garden in his boots and basking in the sunshine, looking a lot like his cousins with their shaved heads and rough and tumble attitudes.
He would run from here to there, drawing (in "whart", "boo", "geen", "pink") on whatever surface he could find, offer me "fowers", then catch me round the legs and snuggle. My beautiful boy with his runny nose and his too short hair and his sweet, sweet smile.