It started on this day, the twenty second of July 2014 and close to his sixth birthday. This was the moment that he told me 'I want short hair like other boys' and my heart broke into pieces. At the time a little talk from mama and daddy and big brother, each of us separately and he seemed to be back on track. Our baby baca, our wild thing, our crazy excitable 'chasing his own tail' spaniel. This was not to last because this boy knows his mind, he knows what he likes, he's got a plan and his glass is pretty much always half full. He often reassures me with words like 'doesn't matter, it's still good, maybe even better!' A few times over the last few months he's mentioned wanting to cut his hair and I have listened and then tried to distract him, like you do a toddler heading into a spiralling mood. But he is my toddler no longer and when a few days ago he told me very precisely and clearly that he wanted a new look and began shining radiantly as he described, bowties and smart shirts and corduroy jackets and a haircut. A haircut! I realised it was probably time. And so today we took a walk to our local barber shop and we waited alongside a few men and boys and he cuddled me and bit his bottom lip, that way he does. Not out of nerves but sheer joy, sheer excitement. I did my best to play the part and I made the right noises and pulled the right faces and as we scrolled through our pins on his board on pinterest titled 'My Boy Fashionista', I began slowly saying goodbye to my little boy. That boy that fitted almost in my palm it seemed, propped up against my chest as a newborn. That little boy that kept me awake for hours who made up for it all with those sweet smiles and gurgles. The little one that loved nothing more than to walk and walk around the park on cold winter days looking for the last of the berries to squish, especially those red ones that had fallen from the ewe trees. That little boy who was always so brave, who would dust his knees down after scrapes and falls, who would pull up his sleeve and allow the nurse to inject him pulling the most stoic of faces. Today as we waited to be seen, I weakened and said to my boy 'I don't know if I want you to have this done' and he jumped out of his high hairdressing chair in the waiting area and walked towards me and cupped my face and said 'It's fine, doesn't matter. I'll like it and you don't need to be sad about it'. And that was that, he convinced me. So proud he was as he took his seat and explained to the hairdresser what he wanted. How proud I was to watch him so totally immersed in the moment, as he happily conversed and spoke so confidently, so precisely. I did say goodbye, not for forever but for times changed and times passed and to those hazy baby days. I bid them all farewell with a tear in my eye and a smile on my face and with the same warmth of feeling of my boys hands cupping my face. Goodbye sweetness … so long.