Ethan had his hair cut this early afternoon. This wasn't his first, or second or third (or fourth or fifth) or even tenth, as this little man has had his hair cut likely more than I have. We had been putting off this particular haircut because his hair grows so quickly, and grows out so unruly and thick, and we didn't want him looking like a deranged mess of a child for his two year pictures. It wasn't until I went to snap a photo of Ethan in Target to send to my husband so we could later laugh about the fact Ethan was eating a scone -- the random food item he somehow knows to ask for whenever he sees a Starbucks, always managing to make me laugh because I'm still not sure how he knew what a scone was and because it's a little funny when your child is begging for a scone after My Gym, at the park, after naptime, like it's the most routine and normal thing in the world. Once I snapped the photo, I realized the focus most definitely wasn't on Ethan's smile after having a blueberry scone placed in his hands. That hair? Yeah. That had to go. It was a little scary.
So I lamented a little more about his two year pictures and hoped his hair would take it's time to come in this time. And then, this morning, he had his (very much needed) haircut. And then suddenly I realized the impact of the whole two year pictures thing because, you guys? My little baby is really a big boy and he's almost two.
As soon as we walked back into our house after returning from the hair salon, I noticed it, the transition from baby to big boy. Suddenly I realized that these were two year pictures we were talking about, that we were weeks away from his second birthday. And suddenly everything he did seemed older, felt older than they did this morning. This morning, we went to ride the choo-choo trains in the mall that used to be a dollar, but now they're two dollars a ride. "I remember when they were a quarter," I grumbled, feeling old and disgruntled and making sure no one other than Ethan was there to hear my lamenting. The woman running the trains told me I could ride with him still until he turns two. "We still have a few weeks to go," I smiled, climbing into the yellow train with Ethan. It wasn't until after his haircut, after I watched this big boy playing in our backyard that I realized we only have a few more weeks to go. He's almost two. He can almost ride the choo-choo trains himself and, now that I think about it, he already hopped into the train without waiting for me to pull him onto my lap like he used to. Cue a little meltdown of sorts and the high probability Ethan and I will now ride the trains every single morning, as many rides as he wants, as many times as we can before he's a big boy and can ride without his mommy. I am so not ready for that moment.
So, you know, Ethan had his haircut and readied himself for his two year pictures and I'm clinging to time and pleading for a little more of it. After all, there's no way we're two days away from his birthday month. There's just no way he's almost two.