Babyhair

"Can you write me something cute and cuddly?"

"Han," she murmured as she finally snuggled up to him in bed after a day that felt impossibly long. "We need to do something about his hair."

He was half awake, but knew better by now than to merely yes her. "Do something how," he mumbled, reaching up to stroke her frizzy braid.

"Cut it or – something. It's – unkept – sloppy – it makes me anxious – and it's all splintered, and I am sick of combing gunk out of his tangles." She yawned, sighing. She was not exaggerating – at five Ben's dark, messy hair hit just past his shoulders, and was forever knotted, sticky, nasty, spiraling after him as he zipped around this strange new planet they would yet again grow accustomed to, eventually. Cutting hair seemed like something for more idle people, who lived in places with hair salons, and for awhile she'd thought, why not allow him this one thing? But this was getting out of hand – today there's been green paint in the drain of their quarters' crappy tub, and all under her fingernails too. "Han. We've got to do something."

She tried to be nonchalant about it the next day, though she did work hard to get home promptly. "'Loved," she said in a voice as bright and upbeat as she could manage without setting off his suspicion, "did you da tell you what we're doing after dinner tonight?"

Ben, coloring on the floor, merely shook his hand, curls swarming.

"We," she said, sitting down across from him and picking up some crayons too, "are cutting your hair tonight."

"Nope," he said lightly, and Han, busy at the stove, snorted.

"Yep," Leia replied just as simply, beginning to color – trees, mountains, home always on her mind.

"Nope, Mama, nuh-uh."

"Yes, 'loved, we are. Pass me the blue, please. Thank you. What do you say?"

"You're welcome," he replied dutifully, not looking up. "Mama nope, don't wanna. Sorry."

"You see me cut my hair, don't you? Little trims? You see me cut your daddy's hair–"

"Nope–"

"And he looks handsome, doesn't he? You don't want to look handsome like your da?"

Han, amused, turned to look at them.

"He's very handsome," Leia added, her lips curling into a wry smile. "And you'll look even handsomer, darling, because your head isn't as enormous–"

"Yep, there it is."

"No thank you, Mama," Ben said politely, giving her a smile and patting her hand, and raced over to attempt to climb up his father's legs.

She tried him again during his bath. "If it was shorter, you know, it wouldn't get in your eyes so much," she observed lightly. "And baths wouldn't take so long, so you'd have more time to play…"

"No thank you," he said, grinning at her and giving a little splash.

"Any reason?"

"Don't wanna."

"You don't want to?"

"Yep. All done, Mam, thank you," he said, and before she could catch him he was sprinting to his little bedroom, dripping and naked.

Before Han went in to tell him a story like always, she yanked him aside. "Han. I need you to tell him a story about a boy who lets his mam cut his hair. Alright?"

"Ah, yeah, that's my favorite," he retorted wryly, eyebrows high.

"Or – could be subtler – something about growing up, being brave, facing fears – I don't know, you're the one who–"

He laughed again. "I'll see what I can do."

When she was pulled back in, later, to kiss Ben goodnight, he said, unprompted, "No haircut, Mama, okay?"

She sighed and sat on the side of his narrow bed. Fanned out all over his pillow was that difficult, knotty, impossible hair. "Is there a reason why, or are you just trying to be difficult?"

"M'not difficult," he said, sticking on his tongue.

"Well. Not always," she said, grinning at him.

"I like my hair because," he began, "it's lots of fun, and it's strong, and it's pretty, and it's like you."

"Like me. Is that so?"

"Yes," he said seriously. "Yours is the longest but I'm going to catch up so there."

"Going to take an awful long time for that," she murmured, stroking his hair thoughtfully. "But you know I keep my hair up and done, and I take very good care of it even though it takes a lot of time. And this," she said, picking at a particularly ugly tangle, "is not very good care."

"I can do that," Ben said immediately. "I'm big."

"It's a serious responsibility. You have to let your mother comb it every evening and you have to let her do it every morning, like my mother used to do for me."

"I can do 'sponsibility, Mama. I'm big."

"I know you are, Ben, but it's – a whole custom, where Mama's from, remember? with only letting it down in private–" (And its for women, she thought absently, but she was forever remaking Alderaanian traditions, why stop now?) "With Mama's hair, it's all very – complicated, and–"

"Mama," he said insistently, "I moved all the way here-home. From all the way there-home. I'm big."

And it was true – during this latest move he'd been exceptional, in high spirits and excited and forgiving, sometimes even more than Han, she thought wryly. When his room wasn't fitted with a bed, apparently imagined as an office, he gamely slept on the couch for a week, even though he confessed he thought the living room was spooky – when they were arguing about how to address the shower being stopped up he was giddy and easygoing about her rinsing his hair in the kitchen sink – when both of their hours went late he was never spiteful or nasty, just kind, forgiving, hopeful – big. The way they always hoped he would be.

The next morning found him bouncing on her lap eagerly, dressed for preschool and chattering and only squirming a bit as she combed. "So, were you thinking braids or buns or…?" she asked lightly.

"I want something that's like… super strong!" Ben declared. "Super tough."

Leia grinned. "Alright, I think I have something in mind, but you have to hold still…"

Once they were both dressed and ready he beat her out the door like he always did, so eager to face the day, so excited about the world before him in a way that made her heart ache and sing all at once, pausing only to grab his lunchbox and hollering "bye Daddy, ha'-nice-day!" over his shoulder.

Leia, for her part, paused to kiss her husband. He gave her an amused look. "Those look familiar," he remarked.

"I think he may wear them better," she admitted. "But then again, it was a bit out of my control, how mussed mine became…"

He kissed her again, and for not the first time she thought Yes, this. Yes this improbable, unshakable man, yes this goofy and generous child, yes this unusual, incomparable way of being a family, of making a life.

As she turned to chase down their son, he gave her a wink. "Tell 'im to make sure he avoids any trash compactors, alright?"