My shnot nosed little babe has been finding it hard to see recently as her hair, fine and gold, falls into her eyes. Together with the constantly streaming nose, it's been giving her a very neglected, waifish look.
But... it will be her first ever hair cut and she is my very last baby. And denial is not just a river in Egypt. Surely not, surely my littlest one does not need a hair cut yet. See. She's still a baby. Look at the pudgy thighs. The chubby cheeks, the little chirrupings she makes instead of talking.
On the other handed, her mouthful of sharp little teeth as she chomps down on her big sister's finger and then belly-laughs, are possibly not so baby-like. The determined demands for treats she sees the big kids getting.
So today my littlest, my last was taken to the hairdresser in all her shnot nosed glory and I tried very hard not to cry.
I am still becoming accustomed to her new, grown up look. The mullet takes getting used to for one, but she also looks so much older now the contours of her face have gained a new definition. While her sister for one will tell you she's a don't-mess-with-me kind of babe, the scraggly hair softened the definition. Now you just have to look at her to see - this is a babe on a mission and heaven help anyone who gets in her way. She will hold them up and roll them with her drool. *
*And yes, Beloved and I are quietly despairing about the kids teen years.