Copper love

Dearest little one,
I remember when I first saw your hair - you were minutes old and fleshy in my arms. All those hopes I had for you to be bald while you were growing in my tummy, were instantly forgotten. You were our well-endowered-with-coppery-hair-bonny-son. we are often asked "where does it come from?" and we are quite sure it's those scottish roots on both sides of the family. your dadda and uncle sam have hints of ginger in their beards, your aunty mad was copper as a babe and turned brown and your uncle JP was blonde that turned gingery. All I know is that it is your colour and it suits you completely. along your increasingly unkept curls... We decided a wee trim might be helpful and today you had your first hair cut with the motorbike-riding Claire (whose been cutting mama's hair, we worked out, for eight years now). You wore your cape with style... sat relatively still... hair-clipped my nose... laughed... gazed nonchalantly... and in the end didn't seem to want that head massage to stop. I carried a swathe of your newborn curls home in a little envelope, for the baby book, and maybe just to stroke in the palm of my hand. Eyes closed and remember the weeks old you... I think of scenes like the one below. A head against my bosom. Oh...