Which is one huge reason I feel more secure with long hair. Or did. I chopped it all off, seven plus inches, just last month. After the 10 plus pounds of hair was removed from my head, the hairdresser felt compelled to hold up the dustpan, the mountain of frizz spilling over the sides, and yell “Look at all that hair, Darla! GONE!”
Yeah, I miss it. My hair was like my cozy security blanket. Something to hide behind. Or maybe just to keep me warm in these brutal Maine winters. Granted, about 99% of the time it was pulled back into a frumpy ponytail…but it was there when I needed it.
Now I instinctively reach back there and grab nothing but air. I look in the mirror and I see the “Mommy cut” glaring back at me, snickering and taunting, “Nah-nah naaaah, nah-naaah nah! Face it, you’re turning into your mom! Soon your style will be nothing more than short perms and bifocals.”
Am I giving up by caving into the Mommy Cut? Having short hair does cut down on maintenance and all the money spent on shampoo and conditioner. There is a freedom there that the lazy side of me absolutely adores. Now I can actually wake up, get outta bed and drag a comb across my head (love that song) and be done with it.
Or am I just being realistic? I am a Mommy after all. I drive a minivan (sadly, no Swagger Wagon for me, but a Loser Cruiser) and I happily go to bed at 9:30 pm. I’m at the point where I’m almost able to embrace those deep wrinkles and stray gray hairs that seem to be multiplying about as fast as the Duggar family. Maybe this haircut is me trying to prove to the world, (and admit to myself) that yes, I am middle aged, dammit! I can’t hide it anymore.
But do I want to feel middle aged just yet? Well, I do want a fresh start. There’s something about turning forty that makes me want to start over with a new chapter in my life, a new me. Shed the old me along with the hair. When I had my hair cut, it felt like I was saying to the world, I don’t give a crap, it’s time for me now! Me, me, me! The brand-new, take-charge, totally out-there “me”!
Sigh. No worries….as everyone tells me, it’ll always grow back. Whew! Thank goodness for that. Us middle-aged moms like to keep our options open. Maybe next year, the Pixie cut?