Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow?

So I'm trying to figure out what my "mommy" hairstyle will be.

I had visions of letting my hair grow out during pregnancy so that I would have long, luxurious princess hair when my baby was born. However, I failed to consider that a)cutting my hair short at the beginning of the pregnancy would not help this goal and b) my hair

grows

incredibly

slowly.

So now I have medium-length hair that is BORING, and I'm trying to figure out my next step.

I still want the princess hair. I've never had very long hair, and right now my hair is the longest it's been in years, so if I'm going to do it, now's the time. I have curly/wavy hair, so I imagine it looking something like Buttercup's in The Princess Bride. Yeah. Maybe after 20 years of no hair cuts.

However, I'm realizing that perhaps long hair is not the wisest choice for a new mom. It seems to be a great tug/chew toy for baby, plus I keep finding it wrapped around his diaper, his neck, his sleep sack, etc. Also, long hair can be pretty hard to style for us curly-headed lasses. Any hairstyle other than a quick ponytail requires the use of a blow dryer or straightening iron to avoid a frizzy mess, and I just don't have the patience for that.

So it seems that a short 'do is the way to go. I could totally do short hair. I imagine myself as an emo-chick with piecey, pointed black hair and face-framing bangs. Wait, what? No dyeing my hair black while baby is drinking breastmilk? Oh, well I can do the rest....what? Curly hair can't be piecey and pointy without hours of straightening that requires time I just don't have? Booooo. And the bangs? Well, if I had a picture of myself from the last time I had bangs (circa 1991) you would see why curly hair and bangs just don't go together.

I really do want the bangs -- I just don't like short hairstyles without them. But I don't know that I can invest the styling time bangs would require. And remember, since my hair

grows

incredibly

slowly,

if I find that my new bangs are a mistake, I get to spend years trying to undo it.

Then there is this other issue. Wow, I'm really not sure the world is ready to see this yet. Well, here goes:

That's my angel 'fro. I have these short, little hairs that form a halo around my head, and there is nothing I can do about them. Extreme amounts of straightening and styling product might tame them for a time, but they are always there, mocking me. Even a simple ponytail can go from decent to laughable when these things make their appearance. Apparently that part of my hair is so thin and fine that it can't grow to a decent length.

So there is only one option. I'm going to shave off my angel 'fro and rock the Elizabethan hairstyle.

If you would like to save me from a lifetime of looking like a Renaissance-era noblewoman, leave a comment with your hairstyle suggestion. Even better, link to a picture!

Anti-Advice

After the last post, a good friend asked me why I am so anti-advice. I think that's a great question, so here's a shot at answering it coherently:

I don't think I am anti-advice as much as I am anti-unsolicited advice. I think that view comes from a desire for emotional safety and the need to learn to ask for help when it is needed.

A lot of time our culture tends to focus on "fixing" feelings that aren't pleasant. For instance, if I post that I am sad, someone may offer suggestions for fixing the sadness. While the suggestions are well-intentioned, the sadness doesn't necessarily need to be fixed. It may be a very healthy, appropriate emotion.

Or say, for example, I tell someone that I am really struggling with jealousy. Perhaps I am already working on that area of my life, and all I need is a listening ear and someone who will say, "Yeah, that's tough." If, instead of listening, the person gives me tips for fixing my jealousy issues, I suddenly feel like a problem to fix instead of a person to hear. That makes me feel unsafe, like anything I share will need to be analyzed and fixed.

Now of course, much of this has nothing to do with the person giving the advice and everything to do with how I receive it. And that's okay. It's up to me to set boundaries that will keep me safe emotionally, and sometimes that means saying, "Thanks, I don't need advice right now." Being able to set those limits allows me to open myself for deeper and more vulnerable conversations when I am ready.

The other side of this coin is the need to ask for advice when I want/need it. A lack of unsolicited advice leaves room for me to realize when I need help and to ask for that help. That is a hard thing to do, but it is a beautiful and empowering thing to realize that I need help and support from others and to ask for what I need. It is even more beautiful to admit my struggles to someone and find that, instead of receiving suggestions and fixes, I receive grace.

Lest I sound self-righteous around this topic, let me admit that I am a queen of unsolicited advice, which is probably why it bothers me so. I also will unabashedly give advice to someone in a dangerous situation (i.e. domestic violence), but of course my brain can go a little overboard when determining what is a life or death situation. Just ask Paul how many times I have delivered unsolicited advice concerning Ian because I am CONVINCED that his nap schedule will be the wealth or ruin of us. But all I can do is try to follow my own, ahem, advice, and offer grace whenever and wherever I can.

Singing

Does everyone sing to their kiddos this much? Pre-baby, I heard lots of friends sing to their babies, and my mom and mother-in-law both mentioned singing to their children. However, the past four months have taught me the amazing power of song. I mean, really, we should bottle this stuff and sell it. Oh wait, I guess that would be a CD.

Seriously, though, there is nothing like a round of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to sooth Ian. Whether he's stuck in a swing while I pump breastmilk or he's fighting the sleep monster, singing brings a smile to his face.

I made the CD joke above, but recorded music can't replicate the power of Mommy or Daddy singing. Hand motions are an added benefit, and seem to be essential in times of extreme fussiness.

The songs I sing tend to fit into 3 categories:

1. Songs I know
2. Songs I think I know and then totally butcher
3. Songs I make up

With mommy brain, very few songs fit into the first category. Most songs are subject to at least some level of forgotten words or music or hand motions, but there are a few that I know pretty well. Hey, I only sang the wrong melody to Itsy Bitsy Spider once. (I know! How did I sing the wrong melody to THAT?) Thanks to the Nashville Jazz Workshop, several jazz standards fit into the "songs I know" category as well.

There are lots of songs in the second category, thanks to my mommy brain. For instance, there are these two folk songs:

My name is Yon Yonson
I come from Wisconsin
I work in a lumber and there...

AND

My home's in Montana
I wear a bandana
My spurs are of silver,
My pony is gray....

Which, when combined with mommy brain, becomes:

My name is Yon Yonsonn
I come from Wisconsin
My spurs are of silver
My pony is gray...

I would have made it through the whole song if I hadn't started wondering why someone from Wisconsin was riding a pony.

And then I tried to sing "Stay Awake" from Mary Poppins, but I forgot the words and started it with "Go to Sleep" instead of "Stay Awake." I forgot so much of that song that I essentially just veered into a new melody and new words anyway. Which leads me to the third category, songs I make up.

The made up songs seem to be Ian's favorites, I think because the process of making up the song relaxes me and puts me in a silly mood. Instead of worrying about schedules or chores, I'm just thinking about him and what type of song he needs in that very moment.

Surrendering to the Mommy Blog

I was determined that this blog would not be a mommy blog. I wanted to write about all sorts of things, including motherhood, to keep it relevant to all my readers.

But as it turns out, if I don't write about mostly mommy stuff, it won't be relevant to ME. It seems that mommyhood is all I think about these days, or at least it's all I care to write about. I'm still trying to find room in my life for my other interests (skating, singing, etc), but most of my blogable obsessions center around motherhood.

I think making a blog irrelevant to my life in an attempt to make it relevant to my readers' lives would, uh, kinda defeat the purpose of the blog. It is, after all, for me. A place to express my thoughts and feelings, a place to practice writing, a place where I can write sentences without verbs and then ponder whether I can really call it a sentence or if I should just call it a sentence fragment.

Blogging and its purpose has been on my mind a bit lately, with the reports of baby-elbowing for swag at BlogHer and the magazine articles about mommy bloggers and their sponsors. (About the baby-elbowing -- I was in tears and had to scour the internet until I found that mom's blog and saw that the baby was okay. Ah, new mom hormones.) There's been a lot of discussion about ethics and transparency and real bloggers and fake bloggers and sell-out bloggers. And I have to say, while I consider myself a person of integrity, if some company wanted to give me a free video camera because they liked my blog I WOULD TOTALLY TAKE IT. Although maybe only if it shot HD.

The thing that strikes me about the truly great mommy bloggers is their transparency and vulnerability. Sure, there can be a level of TMI, but the bloggers that are open and honest about their lives are a pleasure to read. Take Suburban Turmoil, for example. Lindsay writes good stuff. Sometimes embarrassing stuff, sometimes stuff that makes people mad, but good stuff. They are her true experiences and opinions, and they are wonderful to read.

I foresee my mommy bloggerness being limited by my desire for privacy and security. I hesitate to post about my struggles, because I don't want advice, and sometimes I don't even want encouragement. I think I'm just looking for a safe place where I can be happy, sad, angry, perplexed, or everything at once and just sit in the experience without trying to fix it.