I knew there was risk in her first haircut, and, sure enough, after I clipped off her baby curls, they didn’t come back. Her hair hangs mostly lank over her ears – and just long enough now to pull into a ponytail.
A year ago today, she woke up in a crib.
And today, she isn’t a baby. Isn’t a toddler.
Three is a preschooler. Is a kid.
She has a pair of shoes she calls her running shoes (brown and pink). And a pair she calls her jumping shoes (silver and pink).
Today, she asked to wear her dancing shoes (black) with striped tights and a polka-dot skirt.
She is a runner and a jumper and a dancer.
She is incandescent.
“I don’t need to be holded,” she reminded me the other morning at breakfast.
“But, Mama,” she said a few seconds later. “Can you hold me?”