My hair, the mane of a lion.

This is going to be a late night post about one of the most important things I can think of: my hair.
Yes, you may laugh, you may even think its silly that I find my hair to be important to me, but alas, it is.

When I was younger, I remember a specific trip to the hair salon. If my sister is reading this, she is probably thinking about the exact same, horrific, traumatizing, one I am.

I want to say I was about 7 and my sister was about 9. Our ex step mother took us to go get hair cuts one day. Like always, she was in control. I am sure I told the hair dresser what I wanted, same with my sister, but then She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (yes, I just threw in a Harry Potter joke) told them what she wanted us to look like. Long story short, I got a mullet and my poor sister got a bob. We looked like little boys. Even worse, looking back at pictures, we were dressed like boys in our shorts that came down to our knees with our t-shirts and (get this) suspenders. Since "the incident", or "the hair cut massacre", I have not been able to trust people telling me how I should cut my hair.

I don't believe I have had an actual hair cut in 3 years. I might have gotten it trimmed once or twice, but nothing more. Even then, I am sure I was terrified of walking into a beauty salon thinking, "This is the last time I will be able to touch my long hair because I am going to sneeze and the lady is going to mess up and I will once again look like a boy." At one point and time during my high school career, every time I got my hair cut, I had my best friend go with me for moral support because I was so afraid I was going to come out looking detestable.

Now, I am a mom. I have grown my hair out to be the long, luxurious, lion mane that it is and I am considering cutting it. Why? My hair is one of the most important things to me. I have struggled to grow it out and now its long. I want it longer! And yet the thought of cutting it short lingers in my mind. It would be easier to take care of. I would have more of that "mom" look, I suppose.
I promised myself that after I had Rylan, I would not cut my hair because of the "it would be easier" excuse. Plus, it wouldn't make any sense to cut my hair off at the end of summer and have short hair for winter. Surprisingly, my hair keeps me warm in the fall and winter. (Unless I go outside with wet hair, then I get miserably sick and right then, at the point of not being able to breathe out of my nose and coughing up a storm, THEN is another point and time in my life that I consider cutting my luscious hair.)

I think I am just arguing with myself through words right now. Should I cut my hair or should I not? I have yet to get baby throw up or spit up in my hair, which I think should go in the "pro" category, because that in itself is a talent. In the "con" category, my son has already learned that pulling hard on mommy's hair makes mommy make a funny face and say "ow."

Oh, the possibilities one has in life. Here I am, sitting up early in the morning, debating on whether or not I should cut my hair. Some may think that while I am awake feeding my child that I should be contemplating the meaning of life, or how to stop global warming, or feel sorry for the children in Africa who don't have food and here I am, complaining about a hair cut. My words to them would be this: I like my hair. I bet those kids in Africa like theirs too.