Storytime

Alright, so here it is...

I haven't had my hair cut since about three weeks before Noah was born. Yup, that would calculate to just about 7 months ago. Go ahead and say it, I know you're thinking it... Ew. Split end city. Needless to say I was desperate. Not only to get my hair healthy again, but to have something 'new' done with it as well. What I really wanted was a cute, short bob but then I would fall into that category of first having children then chopping your hair right off. I always said I wouldn't do that..... right away at least. So I opted for something classic with bangs and shorter layers so I could get some body with it.

FYI: You lose scary, and I mean scary amounts of hair after having children. What's that about?! As if our bodies aren't changing enough. You know how they say your body will never be the same again?? Truer words were never spoken. I knew about the inevitable cup size upgrade, the required stretch marks, the widening of the hips and even the never ending belly fat afterwards. What I didn't count on was everything else changing. Yes I lost almost all of my hair on my head, to the point where I told Ed I was scared I had cancer. But what they don't tell you is you grow hair all over your face, in a cruel attempt to make up for all the loss. I have one eyebrow now, instead of two and have to take a weed whacker to it every three days just to keep it toned down. I have a cowlick directly in the middle of my forehead where I part my hair, I have sideburns that I have NO idea what to do with, and in certain lights I have a peachy fuzz mustache!

I have a theory about why women 'let themselves go' after having their babies. It's because they take one look in the mirror and realize that their work load has tripled just to keep themselves looking decent, and well... its just too darn depressing.

Anyhow, back to my story... I really haven't had the best track record with hair cuts. No one can seem to get it right. Either I'm not explaining it correctly, or they aren't listening properly. Well... this time I don't think she was listening at all.

It's official... I have a mullet. Sigh. It's true. I even contemplated just how long I could stay indoors with no human contact and still survive. It didn't look promising. And so I must go on living my life. Scaring women and children everywhere I go. Each day I pull out my old box of photo's and try to remember the old me. The one I didn't think looked so bad, the one who on a really good day could even manage to turn a couple of heads. SIGH. She is dead to me now. There is only a hip widened, pectorallysuperior, unibrowed, stomach flabbied, hairy-faced version of her... now sporting a shiny she-mullet. I love my life.

Bless my good husband, because when I came home from the butcher's hair salon he took one look at my tear streaked face and said.. "I like it Baby! It's different, but I like it." Which I can only imagine translates into... "Holy Shozbot, you look like a man." He's a brave, brave soul.

So the moral of the story.... If you ever see a friendly looking, dark haired, petite woman named Brenda walking towards you yielding a pair of very sharp hair cutting scissors... run away. run far far away.

The End.