Sweet Abigail has been begging for months to cut her hair. Her long, beautiful, crowning glory. I've been resistant. I've tried everything I can think of to bribe her into keeping it long. And then I flat out refused. I would be the one with the scissors, and I'm the mom. I didn't have to cut it if I didn't want to, right? Wrong. My mother heart remembered a time when I was Abigail's age. When I too desperately wanted to cut my hair. But my mother said no, and she meant it. She refused. And I never understood it.
This was the face I got when I asked one last time if she was sure she wanted to chop it all off.
Wanting to cut her hair was Abby's way of reminding me that she's growing up. That she's a good decision maker. And she is! There is a 10" long ponytail sitting on my bathroom counter waiting to be shipped off to Locks of Love to prove it.