Hair doesn't define you. I tell myself that a lot lately ... but it's hard for me to believe, since I've had super duper long hair ever since high school. I'm trying to talk myself into going shorter.
The addiction started when people sitting in the desks behind me in school would say how pretty my hair was long. Those were the first compliments I ever remember getting about my looks while I was growing up, and boy, did they stick! Long hair = beauty, that was all there was to it. I'd found my niche.
Since then, I've had it trimmed, occasionally a couple inches shorter than what I was used to, which would make me go home and cry.
But as I get older - and especially since I've become a mother - I look around and wonder why most girls and moms my age don't grow their hair out long. Isn't long hair the ultimate statement in glamour? Carter says it's not.
Carter yanks on it every time I hold him, which, sadly makes me want to hold him less. He uses it to pull himself up and puts it in the same category as keys and remote controls - toys that aren't supposed to be toys. I solicit Matt to get him in and out of his car seat. Even pulling it back into ponytails and buns doesn't work, the weight of it pulls on my scalp and makes my head ache. Styling it feels like a waste of time when a couple tugs from the baby flatten my curls right out.
On YouTube a few weeks ago, I declared it was time to get it cut. But, for the most part, I chickened out. I love my hair. I hate it too. I sometimes wonder why I still have it this long. I've got to figure this out before he pulls the rest of it out. Or maybe I can just hang in here a few more months, and he'll eventually stop with the pulling ...