1 Mother 2 Another

I’ve mentioned in the past that
Cora’s somewhat enamored of my hair – it’s pretty
much her lovey, especially when she’s sad or sleepy or happy
or . . . well, whenever, really. She’ll throw her arms around
my neck, grab great fistfuls of my hair, and rub it all over her
face, making ecstatic noises and smiling.


It can be a little awkward around strangers.

We’ve made jokes about the strength
of Cora’s attachment to my hair, laughing about what would
happen if I ever cut it, joking about having to put a small lock of
it in her bag for her first day of school. She’ll sometimes
demand, “Mommy, hair snuggle!” just so she can wallow
in my locks a bit. And I know I’ve got nice long hair, but it
ain’t THAT nice.


Yesterday, though, my hair’s mystical properties were
elevated to new heights, even for my hair. Cora fell and badly
scraped both knees, and we had to clean and bandage them while she
cried. A few minutes afterwards, she begged me to pull off her
band-aids. I complied, thinking they were bothering the wounds, and
snuggled with her on her bed. Cora rolled into me, said,
“Mommy’s hair will fix it,” grabbed a fistful,
and proceeded to brush it over both wounds. A few seconds later she
rolled on her back, satisfied, and said, “That makes it all
better.”


Maybe I should cut it and sell the stuff on eBay as a miracle cure.
All the proceeds could go to the years of therapy she’s
apparently going to need when she starts school and has to leave my
hair behind.