As happens to many babies, boy's birth hair has mostly fallen out, to be replaced with what my husband and I refer to collectively as the "spikey mikeys" (see photo if you're curious why). The spikey mikeys are cute and fluffy and resist all attempts to be corralled. They stand up proudly, like it's Super Bowl Sunday and the national anthem is playing, and I love to try to either suppress them (they always spring upright, but in a gentle, nonconfrontational kind of way) or smooth them even higher into a little baby faux-hawk. Which has never worked either.
The other day, I noticed that there are maybe two or three hairs that are significantly longer than their peers. I figure that they're the sole survivors of the hair that boy was born with, and they've stuck it out and hung on, and so they've outpaced all the other downies on his skull. And while I know I should trim them so that they don't tickle his forehead, I can't bring myself to do it. I keep thinking I don't want to punish them for hanging in there.
And now I know what it's like to literally love every hair on somebody's head.