Thursday, October 11, 2012

Huckleberry's Hair.

When I was eighteen or nineteen, I thought boys with faux-hawks were, like, unbelievably dreamy, especially when they had tattoos and were several years older than me. It was a phase I (thankfully) grew out of two years before I met Andrew and, truthfully, I haven't seen a faux-hawk I liked since.

Enter little Huckleberry.

Day 29-1
Day 29-2

Not gonna lie, I was deliriously happy when Henry was born with crazy long hair. For the first day, his hair stood up all over and, by the end of the night, his perfect little locks had formed a perfect little faux-hawk. Seriously. It's the kind of faux-hawk that moms try to form with gel and mousse and hairspray and the same kind of faux-hawk that, after all that effort, falls flat within twenty minutes but it's worth it because it is so cute it hurts. Only, instead of taking a lot of effort and falling flat quickly, Henry's little faux-hawk forms less than a minute after his hair's been washed and it stays until the next time his hair's been washed (or until he wears a hat for half a day).

And I never thought I'd say this again but I'll say it now: I am a faux-hawk girl.
(At least on cute little babies, especially ones that belong to me.)

P.S. Max said one of those repeat-after-me prayers tonight and, instead of repeating after Andrew like usual, he reverently talked about dinosaurs and refused to say "amen" when it was time. Instead, when everyone else said "amen" he gave us the stink eye, said three more things about di-do-saurs and then shouted "AMEN!". I am still laughing about this.