Benjamin's 10 months old...and got his first haircut

I'm not sure if it's because time is flying or if it's because Benjamin still isn't crawling, but I really am having a hard time believing he's 10 months old already. But the calendar says it's so; it must be true.

We spent most of the day outside again, though this time I remembered to cover up Benjamin (he got a tad pink yesterday). I even managed to dig out the hat I knew we had somewhere. It was his first time in a hat and he did fairly well. Over and over he pulled it off his head as soon as I put it on him until I sat him down on the grass because then there were better things to pull (ie: the weeds).

For a while I've been considering cutting his hair. I haven't ever really wanted to; I've just felt like it was something that needed to be done. It gets looking pretty gnarly sometimes and the vast majority of strangers who feel inclined to comment about my sweet boy have recently been assuming that he's a girl.

"What pretty hair she's got!"

"He," I'd say when I felt inclined to correct them (which was rarely).

It's true, though. His hair was to die for! Was, being the operative word of that sentence. We cut it off this evening and, yes, I'm pretty sure a small part of my heart died when we did.

It all happened so suddenly.

"This boy needs a haircut," I sighed, brushing a wisp of Benjamin's perfectly fluffy baby hair out of his eyes.

"Let's do it!" Andrew said.

"NO!" I said, clutching Benjamin's head to my chest. "I can't. I love his hair."

Andrew can be very persuasive, though. He got out the clippers.

"Come on! Let's do this!" he coaxed.

"No way!" I said.

But I did say some time ago that we'd have to wait to cut his hair until he was at least in the double digits. Ten months is the double digits. But what about all the family back in Utah? They'd want to see his hair (his glorious flowing locks of joy) and our trip was just a few weeks away (yup, Benjamin and I are headed out to Utah)!

"They'll survive," Andrew assured me.

"Okay, fine," I said. "But we have to take pictures first. And measure his hair. And...I don't think I can do this!"

Pictures. That was the first step.

So, here's my sun-burned baby (note his cheeks and farmer's tan; that's all yesterday):

Just look at that beautiful, beautiful hair! (And the mildly out-of-focus picture).

He's laughing at Andrew making a funny face here:

Measuring. That was the next step. Andrew ran and grabbed a ruler.

"4.5 inches," Andrew announced. "Let's cut it off!"

"I can't."

"We took pictures. We measured it. I have the clippers."

By this point it was clear that whether I cut it or Andrew cut it, our boy was getting a haircut tonight (only tears would have persuaded Andrew otherwise).

"Fine. But I have to take a lock of it first so I can keep it forever."

I have locks of all my babies' first (and sometimes second) haircuts.

So here's Benjamin with his first ponytail, which, Andrew pointed out, was clear evidence that it was time for our son to have a haircut.



He thought the clippers were interesting but wasn't terribly interested in having them touch his head. It took a whole lot of wrangling to get his hair looking decent. Rachel gave him a rattle to hang on to, hoping it would make him happier. It did; and he didn't let go of it until I wrenched it out of his hands so I could get him ready for bed without being bonked by it.

Here's his mass of hair:

It was all just on the top—I don't think we took anything from the back or sides (except a few random long hairs here and there).

When I made the first cut (to get the lock for a keepsake), Andrew said, "Well, there go all his super powers." (That's a reference to Samson, in case you missed it).

Here are a few pictures of Benja-boy enjoying his new haircut. He actually didn't care. I showed him to himself in the mirror and he didn't act at all surprised that he had no hair and instead had a suddenly gigantic-looking forehead.



I suppose his smile is still the same, but he looks so different—so grown up.

Oh, look—another out-of-focus picture (that I otherwise love):

Sometimes I call him my "little man" and tonight that name felt all too real. The good thing, though, is that a haircut doesn't really make a baby get older—it just makes them look older. Benjamin still needed to be cuddled and rocked to sleep (and, let's be honest, he probably will for some time to come).

I'll miss his baby hair, but his big boy hair is pretty great, too.

Now will someone please make time go slower for me so that I can snuggle his sweetness twice as long?

Actually, he just woke up (again—that's the second time since I put him to bed two hours ago) so I guess we're due for some more snuggles today. He's kind of an all-day/all-night snuggler. Sometimes I think of everything I could be doing if I wasn't snuggling my baby but then I think of not having a baby to snuggle and suddenly snuggling seems wonderful again...