Last week I went to get my hair trimmed since it's unclear how trips to the salon will go when I have a wee Peppermint in my care. The whole point of the trip from my vantage point was to discuss a plan for growing out my bangs. They had gotten to that unbearable stage-- too long to really be bangs and just a smidge too short to go behind my ear. In other words, it was so damn irritating that I thought that I should have a professional intervene before I got out the buzz clippers that Jeff uses on his "hair." I think my communication with Ricky went astray at some point, because I walked out with 3-inch bangs. I was thinking we would just trim them up a little bit, but now I have bona fide bangs, which I haven't had since fifth grade. It feels really strange to see a version of my fifth-grade self staring at me when I am actually about to something really mature like have a baby. (Yes, I know that plenty of fifth graders have babies, but this isn't an episode of Frontline so I am pretending that only adults have children and I am pretending that I am an adult. It's my damn blog.)
Anyway, I have decided that growing out my bangs is probably harder than having a baby. At least when I give birth, there will be an option for an epidural. What's the medication for the traumatic haircut? Cutsie hair clips? Telling myself lies that I don't care how I look? Please pass the percocet.
And, when I am not busy self-indulgently thinking about my hair growth and 5-year hair plan, I am thinking about our nursery. We got the bedding for the crib last night, which my mom sent to us. It's gorgeous. I love it so much it makes me want to be a baby so I can sleep surrounded by all that comfy French toile. The theme of the nursery is Paris and as soon as the print of "Ballooning Over Paris" arrives, I will post pictures of little Peppermint's lilypad. It's such a cute room I think I will enjoy hanging out there even at 2:00 a.m. when I am feeding her for the 4th time in 5 hours. That's how much I love toile.
More solid and familiar ground slips away this weekend as my office is moving locations. And I thought moving my single self around the city was traumatic. Watching several hundred people pack up their offices and deal with hundreds of legal files borders on gothic. I keep thinking to myself that it would be nice to have a little bit of stability right now-- I am still getting used to Jeff not working right now, I am mourning the loss of my crappy and too-tiny shower stall in the wake of the Great Master Bath Renovation of 2009, my office is moving and my singlehood and childless existence is waiting to appear in my mental rearview mirror. Yes, I know all of these are good and great and sublime things that are coming to pass, but is it too much to ask that I could pee in the same toilet every night I have been peeing in for months or to come to the same office and brood about the economy or my legal prowess for a few more weeks?
Apparently so.
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