(Sorry for the terrible quality of that photo. Also, I’m sorry for the myspace-ness of that photo.)
So, about once a year I get a haircut. I get a haircut that I LOOOVE and makes me happy. I’m not one of those people who is scared to go short or try something new and dramatic. I’ve had curly hair, straight hair, bangs, bobs, and everything in between. I’ve had a lot of desperately miserable haircuts (the curse of curly hair–no one knows what to do with you!) and it’s gotten even harder to keep my hair looking nice ever since Piper came along and during the pregnancy stole my sanity AND my curly hair. It seems as though it’s never coming back. In it’s place, however, I am not left with cute or fun straight hair. I am left with a frumpy wave and frizz combination which leaves me never wondering what to do. So, after my annual haircuts, I get SUPER excited, and I am so happy to have my new chop. Inevitably though, I end up wanting to grow my hair out reaallly long. This is usually because I have seen someone with a long hairstyle that I get jealous of, and suddenly my grown-out hair takes on a new life in my daydreams. It’s going to have long, gorgeous waves, which I will sweep behind my shoulder and people will point and whisper, “Wow. That girl has gorgeous hair.” But, then something happens. My actual hair grows out, and I realize that all I have is more of the hair that drives me nuts. So it takes longer to blow dry, longer to straighten, still looks crazy, is heavy, and is always in a ponytail. So, blog readers, this is IT. This, today, January 26, is the day I will swear to never, ever want long hair again. I got it all cut off today, and I LOVE it.
(Right about now, I think my dad is wishing he’d followed someone else’s blog.)
There’s something so fun to me about a new haircut. It’s clean, and someone massaged your head, and styled it way better than you could ever dream of. All the yucky ends fall on the floor, and someone else comes and cleans up the mess. It’s really quite a theraputic adventure, one that I might try to make more than an annual thing. And there’s something very happy about shedding the frumpy mom feeling, and embracing the “I’m cute” part of mothering. That second part doesn’t seem to come around nearly as often, eh?