Biting the Bullet

I probably could have come up with some clever title referring to cutting or ties, (or both), or The First Cut is the Deepest, but really, the moment of steely willpower I had to muster, that gritting of the teeth and holding my breath and convincing myself that it was the best thing to do, biting that bullet and trying not to scream really summed it up so much more clearly and realistically for me. 

I did it.

For the first time in 17-days-shy-of-5 1/2-years, I did it.

I trimmed Samantha's hair.

It was never about the length.  I think it had more to do with the symbolic nature of the act, I guess I felt that it should be more ceremonial.  This was, after all, the hair that she was born with, that very hair that the doctor delivering her was so amazed by, the hair that never actually fell out, as it does in so many other babies.  Granted, the ends have been so ratty for so long, that most of what was in existence when Samantha came into this world has probably long-since broken off and disappeared into carpets and playgrounds across the region. 

I only took off about 3 inches.  As a matter of fact, you can't even tell, really, other than by looking at how smooth and shiny the new ends are.  She can actually still sit on it, which I don't necessarily think is a good thing...

Has this made me brave?  Nah, I don't think so.  But it has given me a wee bit of confidence, especially since I told her what I was going to do, and showed her afterwards, and she reacted with interest, not fear (as I, myself, had feared).  Has it made her brave?  Sheesh, I certainly hope not!  My biggest worry now is that she will think it's okay to try cutting her hair herself. 

Maybe it's time for a little talk...

And one day, when she's old enough to comprehend the act and make the decision herself, I'm hoping we'll cut with the intent of donating her golden tresses to Locks of Love, allowing her to give some of her beautiful hair to someone that needs it.