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.