Sometimes when I'm looking at pictures of Drake after he's gone to bed, like now, I have to physically restrain myself from going into his room, leaning over his crib rail and kissing his little mouth. He has a gravitational pull over me and I can't NOT kiss him for long periods of time. He's just too edible. Case in point, today we experienced yet another milestone, another rite of passage: his first haircut. I had debated it for weeks and finally gave in, a week and a half before his first birthday. I couldn't bring myself to take him to one of those places that specializes in kids' haircuts so I asked Marty, who's been cutting my hair for well over a decade, if he'd do it. He said he doesn't usually do babies but for me he'd make an exception. Of course he would. He's practically like a member of the family, I've been going to his dad's salon for 20 years.

This morning I was a nervous wreck. I had packed everything that I thought might possibly be a good distraction for Drake the night before: a book, a snack, a sippy cup, a toy puppy that barks when you squeeze it, a rattle, a teething ring, a set of those plastic baby keys and a block. Yes, just one block. Like that'd keep him occupied for long. I was up before the crack of dawn, showered, dressed and ready before Drake even woke up. We had breakfast, we played, we counted the minutes (well, I did), until it was time to leave the house for our 9:45 appointment. We were early, of course, so I drove around the block until 9:40. Marty wasn't even there yet when we walked in the door.

Drake was FASCINATED by the salon of course, with its mirrors and lights and flashy things and tools with cords. Lots and lots of cords. That place is like a cord paradise. He met the staff who was there and was very happy and cordial, meanwhile I was sweating bullets and pale as a ghost. I don't know why, really, I suppose because I knew we had a brief window of time to accomplish one thing, and if he didn't cooperate, that window would be closed and our chance would be lost. Forever. Well, at least while he was still less than 12 months old.

Like the amazing child he's always been, Drake was a champ. He sat in my lap and played with his toys and ate his snack while Marty snipped away. He got a little squirmy but never cried, fussed or screamed. And when it was all over, he looked like a little man. A little, miniature, grown up man. Prior to the haircut he was undoubtedly the cutest thing I've ever seen, but now I can't stop looking at him. It's like he's entered this whole new realm of irresistability. He's my little grown up baby dude. Or something like that.