"You're telling me that the North Pole is now somewhere in Wisconsin?" "Actually, that's the South Pole now."

I usually get my hair trimmed three times a year. I'd go in and say I'm trying to grow out my hair, please trim a half an inch and leave with my hair the same length it was four months earlier. Damn! I knew it was growing more than a half inch in four months, so it had to be they were just cutting off more than that. Annoyed, I went on strike; in the summer of 2011 I just stopped getting my hair trimmed. At some point during the end of November of 2011, before we lost Little M, but after we knew shit was all wrong I realized I'd never cut my hair while pregnant with him. I made a pact, I wasn't going to cut my hair until I brought home a healthy baby, or we'd made the decision to stop trying. I know. Not the best of plans. Here's the thing though, I thought it would give me some meaning and ceremony, as well as something to look forward to no matter which reason was why it was finally happening. It's the little things that help you survive. I LOVE changing my hair, it's the first sign there's something brewing in my brain; I cut it all off or dye it a completely different color. I've never had "hair style" it's always been a work in progress.

I didn't think it would be too big of a deal. Just something special for me, and an experiment at how long my hair could actually get. My sister hasn't trimmed her hair in like 6 years, and hers is long and glorious. It's thick, full, and she can sit on it now. I failed to consider a few key facts though. My hippie sister does not blow dry, straighten, dye or even put her hair up in a pony tail. For reals. I blow dry daily in the winter, it's fucking cold yo, sometimes I sit under the blow dryer after it's dry just to warm up. I only straighten once in awhile, but that's certainly going to cause more damage than never. My hair is ALWAYS up, and I dye it every 2 months. I didn't think of the fact I've been post partum 4 times in the last 3 years, not a happy thing for my hair. I also didn't stop to realize how very long it could possibly take us to conceive.

Needless to say, my hair is not long and glorious. It is not thick and full. It's a mullet. I have 15 hairs in the back of my head that are long, they brush the small of my back and the rest are in various stages of breakage. The part surrounding my face barely reaches my collar bones, it's bad. What started as something special for me has turned into something that feels like a punishment.

The thought of just giving up made me sad. My intentions had been pure, and I like the idea of ceremony and meaning, even if I was the only one who knew about it. But it was affecting how I saw myself, and it needed to be changed. So in October I decided I would just have to change the meaning. I would chop off all my hair in December, between the birthdays of my lost Littles. It would be something for me to look forward to, in a time I so desperately needed it, to acknowledge the change that had taken place in me, and that continues to take place as time goes on, how very different I am. I will of course donate it, but I honestly think it's probably more trouble than it's worth, and they'll just toss it.

I'm hoping I can figure out mobile blogger enough I'll be able to post pictures. I can't upload them to the computer I use because it's not mine and it's totally out of storage. My plan is to have a friend do it so if I cry I don't freak out the poor Great Clips girl. I've got a month, but I'm still really excited. It'll be nice to not hate my hair as much again. (I don't think I've ever been in love with it. Too Jersey for my taste.)

*My quote is from 2012, which we just watched. I have to like that movie because John Cusak is in it and I love him. However, I rarely like thrillers, or you know, edge of your seat movies to begin with, and this one was so predictable it was just sad. It was in the $5 bin though, so it was well worth that.

**Dear spellcheck, it'd be super awesome if you'd figure out partum is a word. Ass.