A Sealy Posturepedic Bumper Crop and Adam’s First Haircut

Adam’s first haircut was last night and all day today I’ve been mentally crafting this post in vain looking for the right approach. There was Jack’s first time propped up on a cracked vinyl booster seat at the neighborhood barber shop around the corner from our house, and how I arrived late because of work and missed the first few snips of the scissors. There was the predictable “my little boy is growing up” angle, the sadness of cutting away pieces of his infancy and revealing an early glimpse at the little boy he is becoming and the man he will someday be. And of course there was the pressure to make the story amusing, witty and entertaining because I can never take anything seriously and I use absurd humor, sarcasm and obscure, and oftentimes unsuitable cultural references, so that I don’t have to deal with emotions on anything more than a superficial level.

But to be honest, his haircut was just that, a haircut. I didn’t feel pride, loss, nostalgia, sadness, or even happiness; all I felt was tired. Exhausted actually and not just because since November 1st I’ve been up after midnight every night trying to fulfill the socially masochistic contract that is NaBloPoMo then rolling out of perhaps the most uncomfortable (bad for sleeping) noisiest (bad for sex when there are two children sleeping across the hall), misshapen (bad for rolling over. Ruts like you were sleeping in recently tilled field) mattress since the invention of the futon before 6am every morning. Maybe it’s got something to do with Daylight Savings, Seasonal Affect Disorder or just the overwhelming and suffocating patchwork of interminable shit I tuck into the collar of my shirt everyday like the cape of some despondent superhero.

So, in lieu of a long-winded story, submitted for your approval are pictures. Just pictures. Pictures that I will hopefully look at again someday as a way to temporarily reconstruct the pieces of Adam’s infancy and to fill my wistful heart with pride, loss, nostalgia, sadness, and happiness.

Well, the field hands tell me my bed is fleshly plowed, there’s a Justice League meeting tomorrow at 7am and I still need to iron my cape.