Sometimes A Little is Enough

When it came down to it, I couldn't make the big jump. The appeal of the ponytail and my husband's happiness won out and I went with a more modest trim.

BUT.

I got bangs. I have a love/hate relationship with bangs. I have a tall forehead. Really, it's a five- or six-head. So bangs go a long way towards minimizing that wall of skin. However I have a rather pronounced cowlick and the straightest hair you can possibly imagine, so my bangs stubbornly go in the direction they want to go, which is most generally NOT the direction I want them to. Only a major smackdown gets them in line. So we'll see how long this lasts. And how often I clip them to the side.

But for now, I'm pretty happy with it.

This is the only shot that even comes close to showing the gradations of color of the highlights and of course I am making a doofy face and Sophie is out of focus. She is a perpetual motion machine, that kid. The few shots we do catch of her perfectly in focus are rare and precious. Eh, this will have to do.

Changes

I am at the precipice. I find myself once again unsure of which direction to go. It seems I feel this way several times a year. I don't know if it has to do with the changing of the seasons or if its just the passage of time. But here I am again.

It's my hair.

I have struggled for years, hell, my whole life, with finding a style that I like, one that is relatively easy to style and maintain and that works with my hair. Everywhere I look people have fantastic hairdos that perfectly accent their faces. Why do I struggle so much with this?

So I made an appointment to get my hair highlighted, something I haven't done in a decade, thinking this would be a fun kind of change. I had (mostly) decided to grow my hair out, so I was only planning on getting a trim. But then I saw a photograph of myself at the MomzShare event (which was an amazing night out, by the way, and one that deserves its own post) this past Saturday and I did not love the way it looked. So now I'm rethinking the just a trim part.

Tomorrow afternoon I will either bite the bullet and do something new and different or I will come home with just a trim, regretting not doing something new and different. If I leave it longer, Neil will be happy, as he's a long hair guy, AND I will be able to pull it back as we go into the hotter months. Which will be nice when I run my first 5K next month. But if I cut it short, I'll get that something different I so crave.

The decision seems easy. So why is it so hard?

Am I alone? Does anyone else struggle with this? Do you get haircut remorse?

You Asked For It

I swear on all things good and tasty that yesterday's post was not meant to illicit compliments. Not that anyone accused me of such, but after all of your kind comments, I got to feeling like maybe I had inadvertently gone on a fishing expedition. That by talking about the lack of compliments in my world these days, I was in fact asking for them. Not the case. Yesterday.

Today, on the other hand, is a horse of a different color. Today, feel free to lay it on thick. This is more pictures than I have posted of myself in the last year, TOTAL, and I'm feeling a little exposed. So hyperbolic waxing on the vastness of my beauty and the sheer perfection that is my haircut are in no way discouraged.

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

A lot of people, and by a lot, I mean my friend Angie, asked me to post a picture of Sophie's new haircut. I know the rest of you were thinking it, though, so here you go:















Obviously, I went with the bowl cut. Har de har har! Seriously, how cute is that kid of mine?

Just kidding, here's the real deal. The front pictures don't really show much, so a rear shot will have to do. She's been sporting the exposed diaper lately. She must have picked it up at the p'ground. These girls just try so hard to act older.

Baby Hair

I finally broke down and trimmed Sophie's hair yesterday. The wispy mullet was finally just too much for even a doting mother to love.

I truly thought that it would be no big deal to just snip snip and be done with it. Leaving behind a perfectly straight line of hair. What I hadn't factored in was my daughter's absolute inability to sit still and her insatiable curiosity.

From the minute I brought out the scissors, she was craning her neck trying to see what I had. I suppose I made a mistake in trying to be surreptitious with them, hiding them at my side as I approached her. I know there is nothing more alluring than something just out of reach/eyesight. Before she knew what to expect, I swooped in and managed to get the first clip without poking her delicate flesh with the kitchen shears. It went straight down hill from there.

While I did no physical harm to her, it would be seriously stretching it to say that I did a good job. It looked like I used scalloped scissors to cut her hair. It went up and then down and then up and down again. I'm pretty sure I would be able to cut a straighter line on the back of my own head without a mirror.

When Neil got home, he held her and tried to distract her while I attempted to even out my earlier hack job. I am happy to say that I was able to straighten it out a little and she now has a mostly passable 'do.

Every day I see a little less of the baby and a little more of the kid. Today, with her new look, she is even further away from that tiny little bundle I held so close. While so much of me is loving seeing the beautiful little girl she is becoming, I am also nostalgic.

Werebaby

When Sophie was born, she had very little hair. What was there, though, was dark and short. She also had a fair amount on her body and head, including quite furry ears. I called her my little werebaby. I worried during full moons that she would start howling and run off in search of prey. Luckily, that never happened and the hair on her body slowly disappeared.

Over the months, her hair has gotten lighter. Now it is a dark blond. Not quite the towhead that I was as a child, but still much lighter than it was at birth. I have cute little clips to put in her hair, but so far they won't stay in place. I see other babies of approximately the same age, some of whom have a significant amount of hair and I dream of the day when I can braid my darling daughter's hair.

That day is not here yet, though. For now, the front of her hair seems to be growing at a snail's pace while the back continues to get longer. I want to cut it off, but I feel bad taking what little there is. So despite my increasing urge to go for the scissors, I think I'll let it go for just a little while longer. She's just so cute with her sweet baby mullet.

Carpe Diem

When Sophie was born, my hair was six inches or so below my shoulders. Even as a tiny baby, she would get a grip on a hunk of hair and yank and shake her fist until my eyes watered. So to keep it out of her reach, I cut it up to shoulder length about eight weeks after she was born. As her arms have gotten longer, my hair has gotten progressively shorter. At five months, it went to chin length, and most recently to a short shaggy bob just below my ears. Today, I finally went all out.

I hadn't planned on chopping it all off. I went in with the intention of bringing it up a little in back but otherwise just a trim and shape. But while looking through the books to pass the time awaiting my appointment, I came across a style that I liked. Before I knew it, I had sold myself on this new cut.

As the locks of hair began falling to the ground, I started to get a sort of nervous/excited feeling. Well past the point of no return, I said to Aparna, my best friend who was there with me while waiting her turn, and my stylist that I had that feeling that you get when you've just narrowly avoided an accident. You know, like "HOLY CRAP! I'm so happy I'm okay" but with the adrenaline still running through you so you feel all cold and shaky. I meant it in no way as an insult to my stylist, who's great, but just that making a big change in your appearance is so scary. And wonderful. My hair, or rather the longer version of it, was sort of a security blanket. I think I hid behind it to some degree.

It's been a long time since I've had short hair and I wasn't sure how I would look. For about five years now, I've wanted to go back short, but I kept telling myself that I could do it when I lost 10 pounds, or 20 pounds, or as the case would be now, 40 pounds. I'm tired of dangling that carrot, though. At some point, you just have to live for today. Carpe Diem. My stylist, who has a picture of Zak Efron on the wall of his area because he has a crush on him, tells me that I have a face that can pull off a lot of styles and that this one looks fab on me. I'd like to think that he's giving it to me straight (a little play on words there because this guy is as un-straight as they come), but who can say for sure.

So without further ado, the new me:


















Don't feel obligated to tell me how wonderful I look. And by that I mean, do. Please. I'm feeling very fragile here.