|
|
 |
|
The
views expressed
on this page are soley those of the author and do not
necessarily
represent the views of County News Online
|
 |
Broke Wife, Big City
The Mom Haircut
and other parental sacrifices
By Aprill Brandon
I fought it for as long as I could. Because I was the cool mom. The
edgy mom. The mom with the perfectly messy Botticelli-esque curls
cascading halfway down my back like one of those vacant-eyed models
randomly jumping in a field of wildflowers in an Urban Outfitters
catalog.
Except in reality, my long, wavy hair was always tied up in a school
marm bun because my 8-month-old son has made it his personal mission to
pull out each and every strand of it. And those few times when it
wasn’t tied up, it tangled so quickly that one would think it would
take more effort than a slight breeze (such as making out with a
weedwhacker) to get that unique Bride of Frankenstein look I so often
sported. Seriously, if I stepped outside, neighborhood birds started
nesting there (although you can hardly blame them, what with the nice
buffet of pureed peas, scrambled eggs and pancake crumbs my son had
thoughtfully left for them between the strands and all).
But then came the last straw (a straw very much like the texture of my
tortured hair): A windy Halloween day, me outside for most of it with
my hair down and getting whipped around relentlessly while I toted my
costumed baby around to run errands. A last stop to get coffee before
heading home and then THIS conversation:
Barista: “What a cute baby chicken costume! And what are you supposed
to be, mom?”
(Note to reader: I wasn’t wearing a costume.)
Me: “Tired Mom Whose Clothes Don’t Match.”
Barista: …(confused look)…
Me: (looking at my reflection in the baked goods glass and taking stock
of my combat boots, stained cargo pants, hastily applied black
eyeliner, dark rings under my eyes and tangled hair that had grown to
three times its original size) “Amy Winehouse. …(sigh)…I’m Amy
Winehouse.”
Barista: …(flicker of recognition)… “Oh! I love it.”
And so it was with a heavy heart that I walked into the hair salon
yesterday. We had had a good five year run, my long hair and me. But
the party was over. It was time to grow up. Time to look like I didn’t
spend my weekends going to music festivals and eating maple bacon
kimchi cupcakes from a food truck.
Time to tell the world that what I really did was watch “Gilmore Girls”
on Netflix while pulling my newly mobile baby out from under the coffee
table every three minutes.
On the plus side, my hair stylist was a veteran mom herself and she
understood my plight.
Stylist: “So, what are we wanting to do today?”
Me: “Chop it off. Chop it all off.”
Stylist: “Um…OK. Into any particular style?”
Me: “I have a baby. But I want a hairstyle that says I don’t.”
Stylist: “So no ‘Mom Bob’ then?”
Me: “Exactly. I love my baby almost more than anything. And that one
anything is a mom haircut.”
So how did it turn out, you ask? Great! I think. I mean, it’s shorter
now. And stuff.
Truth be told, as soon as I left the salon, I walked home in the rain
and wind, ruining the gorgeous professional styling, and then
immediately tied what was left of my hair back into a teensy ponytail
so I could relieve my husband of baby duty. And then I spent the rest
of the afternoon playing with my son and his creepy bear that creepily
says “Peek-a-boo! I see you!” when you hug it. And then this morning I
immediately threw on a hat over my unwashed/unbrushed hair to walk to a
coffeehouse to spend the very few free moments I have to write this.
And I realized that any hairstyle I get from now on will be a mom cut.
Because I’m a mom now. A mom who, just like generations of moms before
her, will choose function over style almost every time when it comes
down it. Because vanity is a luxury we can no longer afford. Or even
really want to afford anymore. Not when what has taken the place of
that vanity is a tiny drooling person who giggles every time Mommy
tickles him with her hair, no matter the length or style.
Yes, as it turns out, I do love that little stinker more than anything.
Period.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
|
|
|
|
