A Lament

There are a lot of things I've given up on since becoming a mother: Sleeping through the night. Sitting down to eat a meal and staying seated the whole time. Wearing any kind of shoe with a heel when my children are present (and they're always present).  And my hair.

I miss my hair. If you were to meet me for the first time, my hair is probably the first thing you would notice. That is, it's the first thing you notice if you can see it. It's long and very dark and very, very curly. But you can't tell any of that anymore* because it's always pulled back in a messy bun.

This is, of course, solely because of grabby little hands intent on scalping me, and my lack of time to shower and style my hair in the morning. And so my beloved curly hair stays bundled out of the way, consigned to a tight ball away from destructive baby hands.

Unfortunately, I am not one of those people who looks good with her hair pulled back. So I pretty much look . . . not good. On a daily basis.

I am not a particularly vain person. I don't wear make-up. I don't wear stylish clothes. I don't give a damn about pedicures and manicures and facials and whateverthehellelse.

But I do miss my hair.

* Except the dark part, and even that's starting to be compromised by white hairs. THANKS, KIDS.