One of my favorite features of my son is his gorgeous hair.
It's soft like his father's, thick and blonde like his mother's.
I never had to brush it, bed-head did not exist for him. He would wake up and every peice would just lay in the spot it was supposed to. So not fair!
And longer hair just suited him. It had become a part of his personality.
After our most recent trip to the park, I was so frustrated that his hair was blocking out his gorgeous eyes in nearly every photo. I threw in the towel, grabbed the sissors, and trimmed his hair.
Only, I failed miserably.
I looked at him and a little peice inside of me died because I knew what had to be done.
His hair. On the floor. It's enough to make me cry.
Until I looked up to see an even cuter little boy.
My new boy.
I could definately get used to this!