Irresponsible hairdos

More on Noah later (11 month birthday!).  But today, the entry is about meeee. Because this afternoon Carl watched Noah while I ran away to the circus… I mean got my hair cut.

I couldn’t take it any more. Not only had the nice haircut I once had grown out to heck, but all the hair I’d lost after Noah was born was growing back in, so I had little short bits of fuzzy hair growing in under the long bits. And my hair is generally a bit of a pain – okay with a good cut it works fine for about two weeks. But it has waves and if someone doesn’t cut them just so it sticks out oddly and yes, it’s possible to blow dry and product it into submission but I generally don’t, unless there’s some adrenaline creating reason for it.  I’m that lazy. It was bad enough before Noah but after Noah quite frankly if I have four minutes to myself I would rather not spend them fussing with my hair. I never did, before. anyway.

So I got it cut. Impulsively. It’s short. Very, very short. Someday I will take a picture maybe but for now just think really short.  I’m still adjusting. People in the system were a bit miffed.  I am not sure it was my most brilliant idea, but at least it won’t be hanging there limply. I may have to get it dyed red or something at some point though.

The point of all this is that I realized, as I was sitting in the chair getting all my hair hacked off, that with Noah I try very hard to make conscious, thoughtful decisions all day long. Not that I succeed. But I try. And with trying to make new mom-friends and all that, I have also been policing myself in what I say and whether I run my turn at playgroup right, etc.  And with work I have been procrastinating and communicating badly, mostly because I’m frozen at trying to take the right approach to not going back full-time and probably not at all.

I’m getting a bit tired of the all-adult channel, all the time, you know? I mean god – I am not suggesting that it’s a terrible awful burden to function in a grown up way. 

But I sort of miss the days when I could make a decision and it would impact on – me. And perhaps a few other people, none of them dependent on me.  Like I could stay up late late into the night for no good reason, and it wouldn’t mean that I was a crap mother to a helpless human being the next day.

So after 15 minutes of freedom getting to the mall, I just kind of flipped out in my somewhat usual for me manic way and went and said: off with the hair! Because if you’re going to be free enough to get your hair cut, you may as well take 7 inches off.

And then I sat and worried that Noah would not recognize me and he would cry and mourn for his lost mother forever, you know, the one with the long messy hippy hair (i.e., some version of Lyria).  And then I thought fuck! I’m turning into one of those mothers where everything is “about the baby” but this isn’t, it’s about my hair and my hacking it off just because I could. It’s just about me. And a haircut. And chill the fuck out.

When I came home Noah gave me one quizzical look and then went on with the usual greeting dance involving much gesturing.

I got the feeling that maybe I could risk a bit more and be a little less responsible here and there. In baby steps.