While pregnancy can certainly create a fair share of physical challenges (who isn't troubled by an inability to see her own feet?), there are also some definite perks. My favorite was the magical effect that pregnancy had on my hair.
Yes, it sounds vain, and maybe trivial. But all of that was completely irrelevant while I was admiring my long, thick mane of hair.
No shedding, a perpetual sheen, and a length I thought I would never achieve.
Next to having the babies themselves, that hair was worth every moment of morning sickness and swollen ankles.
So naturally, I thought I would keep it that way forever.
And then the gray population began to expand.
And the sheen wasn't quite as… shiny.
And the ends suddenly became bounce-less.
Post-pregnancy hair, I discovered, wasn't all that spectacular.
Still, I was determined to keep the long hair that I believed kept me feeling youthful — and away from the dreaded cliché “mom hair.”
This diligence continued long after my final days of pregnancy glory — until one recent night, when my husband and I sat down to watch a movie together. The moment the actress slid onto the screen with her short, bouncy cut, I was in love.
“I think I need that haircut,” I told my husband, keeping my eyes on the screen.
He turned his head slowly, maintaining a very neutral look. This was a man with experience in the realm of my hair.
“Oh, yeah?” he asked.
“I think so,” I affirmed.
“Whatever you want to do,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes. Classic safe husband answer.
After polling my bravest (and most honest) friends, I made the appointment. Before I knew it, I was sitting in a chair, gazing at my own reflection.
“Cut it?” my hair guru asked with raised eyebrows.
“Yep,” I responded with a smile.
“That much?” she asked.
“Are you going to hate me after this?” she deadpanned.
“Maybe,” I said with a mischievous smile.
Out came the scissors. I watched my long locks fall to the ground, and felt just a tiny bit of panic. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Deep down, I knew it was time for this cut.
When she turned me around, coiffed far beyond my own personal skill set, I gasped.
“Oh, no…” she began, wide-eyed.
“I love it!” I exclaimed.
“Thank goodness,” she said with a deep exhale.
I laughed, and ran my fingers through my short hair. It was healthy, bouncy, and made me feel brand new.
“I love it!” my husband echoed when he saw me.
I grinned, happy to have the validation of a man with no poker face. As he hugged me, I couldn't help but look at my reflection in the window. I liked this brand-new me.