The Tovsky Tribe

Chocolates, Cocktails, Friends, Babies...A Girl Should Never Have Just ONE!!

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Last Firsts

When I got pregnant with Turner I knew that was the last, and well, ironically the first, time I would see a positive "pee on a stick" pregnancy test. (Chase and Ryder's confirmation came another way). I knew when I met my third baby boy for the first time, my absolute favorite moment of having all of my children was meeting them each for the first time, that the was the last time. We've had a string of last firsts, first foods, first crawl, first steps, first words, etc.
We just had a last first hair cut, which perhaps less monumental than my baby learning to walk, per se, seemed to be more emotional than all of those other last firsts. Possibly because his learning to walk and to talk and to eat have made our juggling act easier, and probably because all of the other things he did when he was ready, this we did when I was ready. Sort of.
It is not a secret of parenthood, baby's first cut makes them look, if not act, less baby-ish, and I admit this was something I was trying to avoid. Avoidance. Denial. Neither stop your baby from growing up. His hair was kinky curly, and frizzy, and fine, none of which were very nice looking. The curls were begging to be cut but I was so sad to see them go. I just kept waiting. For a brief moment I considered waiting another year and a half and having an upsherin for him. Not for religious purposes. Just to wait. For what, I am not sure. For Godot, perhaps. Chase and Ryder were just under 13 months when we cut their hair. But when it is your first(s) you're in a rush for all milestones, with your last there's no rush for any of them. Except maybe to deliver the baby because it's hard, so hard, to be nine months pregnant when you have other children. Firsts you encourage walking, lasts you push them down (figuratively, not literally, of course!)
So, we took Turner to Jack, as we had with his brothers, and a last first cut was had. As I snapped away the pictures I held back the tears as my baby morphed into a big boy one snip at a time. And, the thing is, my bittersweet emotions were not in vain, because Turner immediately started acting bigger, older, almost 4. I know I sound like a lunatic. Crazy, right? I would say it too, only I see it. He is older, more independent, more mature.  He must have looked in that mirror and saw what we saw, that he did not look like a baby any more and became, instantly, one of the big boys. A big boy who doesn't talk, but a big boy none the less.


For all of the photos click here

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