THE FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was something that needed to be done, and had for some time now. I mean it is just hair.

So then why did I dissolve into a puddle of emotional goo when I took Adlay to get her first haircut Monday? The lady that did the cut was wonderfully kind. They took pictures and placed the hair clippings in a little bag for me to keep. All in all it should have been just another milestone among many. But when we got out of the chair and I stood her down to brush off the tiny hairs that had fallen on her checks it was all I could do not to breakdown right there in the salon. At that moment I saw what I had been dreading since the day she was born. My baby isn’t a baby anymore.

She can walk, talk, feed herself, drink out of big girl cups, she's even showing interest in the potty. All the things I thought I couldn’t wait for her to do, because it would make my life easier, are now constant reminders that she is growing up, despite my explicit instructions not to. It makes me physically ache.

I never thought I wanted to be a Mother. I honestly didn’t think I was cut out for it. Now I see this little person, who is a carbon copy of me according to MY parents, and I forget all life before her. She is literally the reason I get out of bed in the mornings. I have never known such joy than when that sweet face comes up and whispers to me, “Momma kiss”.

So that night as we rocked in her chair and she drifted off to sleep, I stayed a little longer. I breathed in her sweet smell of lavender and innocence, I stroked her newly groomed hair and I let the tears I had been holding back all day flow. Oh there was plenty else to be done, but for those precious moments NOTHING was more important than holding my little girl. The days of kindergarten, sleepovers, first dates, proms, and graduations are coming faster than I care to acknowledge. So for just a while I stole back some time and held my baby, just because I could.

Song for a Fifth Child
 


Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread, sew on a button and make up a bed. Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
 


Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue. Dishes are waiting and bills are past due. The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue? 


The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton