Hair, There, Everywhere!

I have spent the past few days thinking constantly about my hair. Okay, nix that...the past few weeks? Months? I'm one of those people who have Grand Ideas when it comes to my hair, but the second I sit down in the stylist's chair, my ideas go out the window and I say things such as, "Let's shave all my hair!"

I wanna be Britney, darnit! Make me Britney!

Several years ago, I went pixie. As in boy cut. It was cute and it took all of two seconds to fix my hair in the morning. But then...the pixie just got on my nerves. I worried I looked like a boy. A boy with boobs, but a boy. I worried it highlighted my double chin. And so, one day, I grew it out.

Have you ever tried to grow out a pixie hair cut? Have you ever tried to pull your fingernails out one by one? The process is very similar.

Here's the picture of the pixie:


Here's a picture of my hair, yesterday:



I've started wondering if I can do a version of this:

As I sat in my stylist's chair, feeling both scared and bold at the same time, I started analyzing hair. What is it that I like? What is it that I don't like? Who would my hair vote for? Who would my hair like to meet most, living or dead? Does it have a favorite book? Has it ever been a part of Oprah's book club?

And why do I have such a fear of having "mom hair?" I am a Mom, aren't I?

My stylist insists that Mom Hair is a state of mind (she's 26 without kids). I say "I want to be fashionable! I want to be a hot mom!"

She takes a hot curling iron and smacks me across the head, hoping it will shut me up. It doesn't work.

I read a blog recently that asked about what my look says about me. Hip? Cool? Frumpy? And honestly, I don't know. I hope, on the cusp of 30, that it says I'm finally getting things together. That I'm finally starting to figure things out. That hey, my shoes and shirt match for once and I actually change out of my pajamas before noon.

And if all that's too much? I hope it at least doesn't say sometimes I forget to brush my teeth.