Dearest Cash,
I think I am coming to terms with it - finally. It's been almost six weeks since your first major haircut - "major" being the key word to describe not only how much Daddy chopped off but also the kind of reaction I had afterwards. The night before you were to have your preschool photo taken, I asked Daddy to give you a "shape up". Translation: Take a little off the top and clean up the sides around the ears. Daddy had given you a shape up before, so I just assumed this time would be the same. Off I went to put your baby brother down to sleep for the night, while Daddy sat you on a stool in the bathtub and got the clippers ready. Yes, the clippers.
About ten minutes later I walked past the bathroom and saw your hair was cut down to a "fade" of sorts. Thinking it was close to being too short, I warned Daddy who assured me he was just cleaning up the spots that were too low because you kept moving your head. It didn't take long however, for Daddy's promise to break into a million little pieces. I walked out of Grey's room, past the bathroom and caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye. You were still seated on the stool smiling, as if to say, "Hey Mommy! Look at my new haircut!" My stomach just dropped and I Instantly burst into tears. You were nearly bald. You looked like you were suffering a terminal illness or had survived the squalid conditions of a child labor internment camp - and as your mother, I wasn't prepared for the shock. Even writing this now I almost feel sick all over again. With your glorious curls gone, replaced by a super low crew cut - I was definitely in a state.
"What happened?!!
Why did you cut it so short?
Oh My Gosh!! What happened?!!"