My little man got his first haircut yesterday. He is growing up fast. He sat as if he’d had his ears lowered before, only getting antsy near the end when making his cars dance on the counter became a very important thing to do. No more cwazy hair, bye bye baby mullet, and adios side wings. I had been putting it off as long as possible. It took probably a month of him incessantly brushing at the hair around his ears before I gave into the call of the big boy and Grandma gave him his first snip snip. It helped having her do it in her house in the same chair he had just eaten dinner in. It feels like now that the seal has been broken, any haircut after this won’t be such a big deal. No one was traumatized, and now the one of the decorative lockboxes I bought months ago has a few locks of hair to hold. I’m not at all worried about filling the one for his first fallen baby tooth.
More Connor(big boy)-isms:
*Declaring “I did it!” after most anything he does by himself like climbing into his car seat
*Exclaiming “Look at me!” after most anything he does like spinning himself in circles
*Saying “I got it” to either himself or us when struggling with something like pushing his trike uphill
*Sitting on and scooting along the sidewalk on his tricycle (we haven’t moved on to the advanced pedal level yet)
*Asking a waitress “Where are you going?” so abruptly that she stumbles over the explanation she feels she needs to provide to a not quite two-year old
*Throwing purposeful fits
*Developing a fakey pouty face that is oh so obvious
In recent days my imagination has been allowing me to think about what it may be like with two boys (did I tell you we’re having a boy? Weiners: 4, Vajayjays: 1). At first, all I could imagine was ‘Rad and a smaller, not as cool version of ‘Rad. Now I can see my big boy Connor and another completely unique little boy who adores/hates/loves/worships him. My biggest fear for our new baby? That he won’t have a sense of humor. I’m not sure why that fear is the one I carry with me, but living life with no humor is such a grievous tragedy that I would never wish it upon my worst enemy (not you this time, thunderous preggo thighs). Plus, a humorless soul has no place in our house – laughter is how we cope, survive, overcome, and rise. I’ll give this little boy a funny bone implant myself if it comes down to it. I’ve always wanted to know how to stitch up a gash…there’s no time like the present.
I’m allowing myself that small glimpse of the future with two kids because I’m not allowing myself to ache over how many expenses and how little sleep they entail. I’m trying not to imagine the growing pains ‘Rad and I will go through when my time will have to be divided between him and a whole new needy being. I tend to not give much thought and effort toward unpleasant things, which would probably explain why my house is a mess and my car looks like I live it in. Yeah, I don’t like cleaning.