So I’m going to talk very self-indulgently about my hair now, so feel free to turn away.
When I got pregnant I was stoked, obviously, and very excited and all that. And then came the whole identity crisis, where I found it hard defining myself as a mum. The whole time I was up the duff I didn’t want to be too mum-ish, which led to me shaving half of my hair off in protest, because obviously I thought that being 25 and pregnant meant my relatively carefree life was over and I was on a one-way slippery dip to Kumfs and blouses from Millers. And the number one thing I wanted to avoid was mum-hair. I actually had people ask me when I was going to get it all cut off because when the baby came along I wouldn’t have time to do my hair (despite the fact that I have never really been one to ‘do’ my hair). That put the fear in me and I have steadily been growing my hair since.
And now it is driving me nuts. I have very fine, dead straight hair that pretty much just hangs. I put in in rollers for SEVEN hours before my wedding and after an hour it looked like this (Yes, I tied my hair in a ponytail after my wedding ceremony. That’s how much I don’t ‘do’ my hair). Flatty McStraight. I hate having hair in my face and Archer loves to grab it and chow down so 99% of the time I wear in it a ponytail or topknot, so I have inadvertently ended up with mum hair anyway. So I made an appointment for this Saturday to get the chop.
My awesome hairdresser Yvette (whose name I may steal for a future child) has the same kind of hair, so she gets my drift. And hopefully she doesn’t freak out when she asks what I’m having done and I say ‘Something short, easy and choppy, with some sort of fringe that isn’t annoying and that required little to no maintenance, and is definitely NOT mum hair.’
Anyway. The bottom line is that hair is important in my identity, and I am getting a ‘not-mum but sort of mumish’ haircut. Thanks for listening, ya’ll.