Tonight we had to cut your hair. Three (plus) years of growth all gone with a few snips of the scissors. You see, you decided to cut a pony tail by yourself, aiming for just the rubber band, but slicing a whole lot more away.
It was traumatic, more for me than for you. Although you were sad for a little while and very worried about the teasing that might follow.
It's funny how I'm all wrapped up in you. When I was little I had crazy curly hair too. (I still do but that's not really important to the story.) My mom wouldn't let me grow it out. It was too messy, too thin, too tangled and mostly just too much. But, oh how I wanted long, luxurious flowing hair. (I still do, but that's not important either.)
So here you are, my very own little girl, with hair that grows so slowly and bunches up so tightly it never looks very long. It can look big, or crazy, or fluffy, but never long. At least not yet. I made up my mind a long time ago to let you grow it if you want to, and you do want to. But I realized tonight that it meant more to me than you.
That's the way it goes sometimes, you hold onto things so tightly they stop meaning anything important. I'm not just talking about hair, you see. Little things add up, growing bigger and bigger, until the time comes that you have to cut them away for your own good. You have to let go, let the scissors slide, let the new you unfold like butterfly wings. Sometimes you cut away more than you mean to, and it hurts a little. Sometimes when you're done, you find the new and glorious was just hiding underneath. Sometimes, you have to let someone else finish the job.
It's just hair, it will grow back, I'm well aware. Maybe thicker, maybe tighter, maybe even slower. But definitely better, in the long run.