Oh, how I miss those sweet little curls. Those lucious, golden locks. I can only say that I must have had a brief moment of insanity the day I told Amanda to lop them off. It had to be done, but considering the facts I had to face those long 17 months ago, I can't believe I even had it in me cut Remy's hair.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I can picture the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. That gnawing feeling, that somehow my little boy would look so different that I wouldn't recognize him. It was the day that I came to terms with the fact that they would be
No, not my sweet Remy. The only child that I have produced whom was able to grow hair before the age of two! Why? Devistation is the one, and only, word that comes to mind. When we took him to Detroit that day, I had accepted the fate of that sandy blonde head. You see, by then, it was just this beautiful meadow of blonde perfection (Both Matai and Brodie were both bald....forever it seems), and I was really digging it. But alas, his brain had to be on the fritz, and in need of some alteration, so before they could cut into his brain....first came the hair. I kissed that baby boy goodbye (tears streaming, of course) , and off he went. When I was reunited with my sweet boy hours later, he was wearing a little hat made of bandages, if you will, so it wasn't until a couple of days later that we noticed this (be warned, its a bit shocking):
They didn't take it all! They shaved what can only be described as a little roadway, along which they would make the incision for surgery. While I was excited to see hair, I was, in fact, a bit worried about how this hairdo would pan out over time. We doctored it for the next few months, determined not to give up hope that we would have a child with hair on his second birthday. Here he is a few months after surgery. Not so bad....right?
I had these terrible visions of him growing up and having this huge, thick scar that, of course, would part his hair into a horrifying clownish do, much like Bozo. I had to let it grow. Just to see what would happen...right? And so it went, that boys hair grew, and grew, and grew and became more and more delighfully amazing with each passing day. Not only was it cute, it was downright delicious. He was perfect, with his cheesy grin, his gigantic baby blues and those glorious curls.
Can I get a.....REALLY?! Really? Is anyone really this cute? Cuteness aside, I was enabling that child to the point of no return. I was treating a two year old, like a baby. My fault, I know, but something had to be done. Matthew and I went to Ann Arbor for the day, and arranged for the deed to be done while we were a good 45 minutes away. We came home to an exquisitely sophisticated little faux hawk, and I couldn't have been more pleased. Would you believe me if I told you the week that he got his hair cut, he took his first steps? I guess I knew what we needed, a fresh start, and a big boy do for little man to be able to do his thing.
I am happy to say, that though we did say good bye to the ringlets, the insane cuteness that IS my little Reminator is still alive and well. We don't need no stinking curls, but still....a moment of silence, please.