It was a Sunday afternoon and Dear Husband and I were snuggling contently on the couch watching football. It was our last day of the winter “vacation” following the Christmas holiday and we were happy to just relax. That should have been the first clue.
After all, we’re parents to a four year old and a two year old. How could we ever be snuggling contently, just the two of us? But our own naiveté was leading us to enjoy the quiet and calm while our children were playing upstairs in the bedrooms.
Then the call from the four year old mini-ion – “MOOOOMMMMMY! You better come up here!” There had been a couple of those, so we weren’t terribly concerned. Dear husband headed up first and all I could hear was, “what did you do? what did you do?” I ran up the stairs to see that Mini-ion #1 had cut a handful of Mini-ion #2’s beautiful, perfect hair.
Admittedly, I didn’t react perfectly either. I looked at Dear Husband and said, “this is all your fault! You left those scissors up here!” and pretty much quit talking to him except to tell him to stop yelling at Mini-ion #1 and to just glare at him at every word he said in hopes of making the situation better.
Mini-ion #1 very soon realized that he did something very bad so we sat on the floor, hugging and talking, while he said he was sorry and I tried to relieve him of the worry and guilt.
The newly chopped Mini-ion #2 bounced around the room telling us about her haircut, without a care in the world. And I tried not to focus on it to give her any worry or concern.
Eventually we got them both to bed. Eventually I did speak to Dear Husband again. And we both took a big sigh of relief that the only thing cut was hair. JUST HAIR! Over the next two weeks while I tried to come to terms with the massive hair cut that Mini-ion #2 was going to need to get, I kept asking myself why this was such a big deal. I have two people in my life, going through cancer treatment who have lost their hair while they fight back. And I dare to have tears that my baby is missing just a chunk of hair.
As my strong, sweet Mini-ion #2 sat in the haircutting chair, looking up at the pain in my eyes, she sang to me the song from Doc McStuffins, “What’s going on? Tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s something we can do.” While the rest of my baby’s beautiful, blonde hair fell to the ground.
I’m just not ready. Not ready for the last part of Mini-ion #2’s babyness, the hair that was still on her head when I first held her, to be cut off. The same hair that she asked her brother to cut off. I have a feeling this is something that I’ll be forever fighting with this strong-minded, independent girl, not being ready to let go when she is.