Corben, it seems, has always had crazy hair.
(And by crazy, I mean crazy AWESOME!)
I had to go back to November of last year to find pictures of "normal hair." See?Even then, there is a little prequel of crazy if you look closely. But no need. Because just a month later?And then another month after that?It was around this time that I started getting compliments on my "beautiful little girl." It was also around this time that people (*cough* Steve *cough*) started saying "you should really cut his hair."
However, I am the hairdresser in this house for everyone (the dog being the only exception.) No one gets a haircut without asking nicely, plying me with coffee, and praying for a free 10 minutes where I can bust out my scissors and get it done.
And thus, as the hairdresser, it is also my right to refuse a haircut.
I refused to cut Corbie's hair.
I KNOW what a haircut can do to a little baby. It takes him from "baby" to "boy" in one fell snip, and I wasn't ready to let go of that tiny shred of babyhood just yet. So I let it grow. And grow. And grow. And then last week, when Corben fell down the stairs and I snapped this picture:I knew it was time. I couldn't deny it anymore, I couldn't hold out anymore, they didn't make pony tail holders for boys, and it was really really time to give this poor kid a haircut.
So I did. (I love the look on his face in that shot - like "what the hell do you think you're doing to my mullet, you crazy lady?")
(And then I let him run around in his diaper for an hour, so I could take a bunch of pictures and pretend that he was still a baby.) Alas, my baby is not such a baby any more, but he'll always be MY baby. My adorable, smart, funny, mullet-free baby.