For so long now, you’ve known him as this.

And this.

And, occasionally, this.

But according to one of Einstein’s laws (I cannot now remember which), all shaggy things must someday be tamed. And, in spite of our many reservations, we decided the time had come to take out the scissors and stop fighting the inevitable.

We doused the child.

We combed his hair.

And then the shearing began.

It’s such a fine line between savage and civil.

As the domestication process continued, he seemed to know that something was happening, but he wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later it was done. The spoils of battle littered the countertop.

The result? He was pleased. We were pleased.

Suddenly, he’s not a baby. Suddenly, he’s a little boy.

Worry not. The curls are not gone. They are merely subdued.

I wish I could say the same for the child himself.