I have been debating whether or not to finally go ahead and cut off these precious cherub curls.
Ironically enough, I came across this poem that I wrote for Luke in December, 1998:
A white bank envelope full of your red curls
My new suede purse
I did not cry when the barber cut them
The way I did when you outgrew your baby shoes,
Tonight when I rocked your
Small body to sleep
I imagined how small you were a year ago,
Barely any curls at all
Soon your body,
Which fits so perfectly in my lap
(neck and knees cradled between my elbows)
Will be too big to cradle.
Short, wet hair,
Warm milk in a bottle
Luke, my two pound angel baby,
I want to fold myself into you,
And like hair in an envelope,
Keep you forever.