June 8, 2011

Wigs are always a nice option.

Will I still be a hot mama if I'm bald?

I ask because I can't seem to shake my head 'no' without having to vacuum the floor around me.  I find strands of my hair in Via's diaper.  Very cute.  I mean gross.  And now that she's in the "I'm going to put anything I can grasp in my mouth" stage, she loves to gnaw on my rogue locks which can all be easily found pretty much anywhere you look.  I'm constantly brushing my arms and legs feeling like something is tickling me.  Which there is.  My hair... trying desperately to hold on for dear life.  It just doesn't have the power.

Pregnant hair is like nothing I could have dreamed of.  Conversely, now I literally blow out my hair and my bathroom is a proverbial rug.  So I have to vacuum even more now that the baby is out and my hair apparently wants to follow suit. I have to vacuum enough that my hair is tangled in the brush that twists- aka the mechanism that makes this icon of domestication functional.  I can't wait to have to deal with replacement vacuum parts. That'll be a few hours worth spent.

I have an appointment booked with my hip and trendy stylist and I'm scared.  I'm scared because I've finally allowed my hair to grow to a length I'm proud of, below my bra strap, and I know that I'll be tempted to chop a little.  I don't like the feeling of salon instability; I can be easily swayed and often walk out missing a few too many inches in the spirit of spontaneity and trendiness and I'm not having it.  I have to stay strong and lead my hair by example.

I'm not a fan of this loss and feel that a memorial service should be held to honor and remember my long, lustrous, thick locks.  Sadly, they will be missed.

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