It hadn't been my intention to torture myself over the weekend with further reminders that both my little babies are growing up, but we'd promised ourselves - and Blake - that we would get his hair cut on Saturday. After a trip to Biff Kids in Dulwich Village to buy him a new pair of wellies (the cost of the shoes we buy there isn't so cringe-worthy when I factor in my hopes that Noah will eventually wear them too), we then headed to the local hair salon. After a very brief discussion about whether to leave the length above or below his ears - above won out - Blake was soon caped up and gone were his beautiful, but admittedly quite scraggly, curls. As he sat in the chair, generally quite solemnly and quietly looking in the mirror at the handicraft happening to his locks, he just looked and seemed so much older than his three years.
Fortunately they were able to give me an envelope so I dutifully saved some hair for the keepsake book, and after a few "glamour shots" on the Rosendale Road Parade, we headed home for some lunch. Matt and Noah had stayed home and when Blake ran into the kitchen to show Matt, I heard Matt say, "Oh, that's a lot shorter! Is Mummy happy or is she sad?"
The answer was, like with Noah's steps, that I had mixed feelings. Though, at least I was there for the haircut. And it's going to be a lot easier to figure out what Blake's hair is supposed to do in the morning, without the difficult comb-over attempts and unkempt strands of frizzy hair.
But, my boys are growing up, and it will probably seem like no time before we're off to get Noah his first cut. As you'll see from the pictures, he still has a while though before that happens, so I'll just snuggle up to his fuzzy head and tell myself that they're not growing up too quickly. When he walks out of my lap, well, that will be another story. I'll save that thought for another day...