While talking to my sweet little sis yesterday, I was idly twirling Reuben's top lock and several hairs came away. I'm aching today. I think I fooled myself into thinking it might not really happen. And am foolish enough that I'm still kind of holding out for the survival of the lashes.
Still talking to my sister, I took enough for a strawberry blonde curl, then searched the basement boxland until I found green thread. And bit it because we're not yet organized enough to have scissors and thread in the same room. And could only use one hand because the other was holding so tight to that curl. Lock and thread are both now in a cello envelope on my dresser and I'm breathing slowly and vowing not to let hair torture me anymore.
I already know he can rock bald.
I know no one will even notice because he nearly already is.
I know it will grow back once we stop filling his veins with poison.
But how poignant a reminder it is that, right now, we are.
And to think I begged "them" to start as soon as possible.