I'm terrible about having my hair cut regularly. First, I hate spending the money since I have long hair that is never really styled. When I do go in, I don't visit a fancy hairstylist. I don't go to "insert name" because I just love the way she cuts my hair. I've never, to my knowledge, had a bad haircut. I stopped highlighting my hair about 6 years ago once I realized natural hair was a lot cheaper and oh yeah, I didn't really care what other people thought about me. I also loathed sitting in that chair smelling terrible toxins for over 2 hours. I've come very close to falling asleep many times. I nearly passed out once. I usually go about 3x/year for a cut to the local haircuttery. Nothing fancy. No appointments. Just walk-ins and no updated smalltalk. Lord knows I don't need another person to ask me how my baby is doing.
Once Andrew was born still, I decided that I couldn't bear to part with my hair. It meant I was chopping away part of myself-- the part of me that was present during his life and I couldn't do that. I couldn't control his heartbeat and really have no control over anything else, but I could control my haircuts. I know, a little nutty. {Makes me wonder why I didn't consider the same for my leg hair. Insert projectile vomiting here. Yes, I went there.}
I thought that I might grow out my hair until I became pregnant again or until July 26, 2011 rolled around. I made it until July 2. Not too shabby. I give myself credit for making it to July. And obviously I've addressed that I'm not pregnant. While it sounded so wonderful to connect my babies that way, it just wasn't in the cards. Learning to let go of control in that arena because it's clear I don't have any choice.
Instead of just chopping it, I wanted to do something in Andrew's honor to help other children. Obviously many people do this everyday and my hair is only good enough to create part of a wig for a sick child, but I wanted to contribute. I couldn't see myself just throwing away my hair and since it was already so long, I needed to use it for the benefit of others. Especially if helping meant making a child smile.
So in honor of Andrew, my extremely long hair has been chopped and donated. My husband loves my long hair and wanted me to cut only the minimum-- 10 inches. I really wanted 12 inches. A foot just sounded so monumental. But, marriages mean compromising. We chose 11 inches.
And in true cheap Brandy fashion, the ceremony was done at the local Great Clips. Only a little somber for me... the lady who cut my hair on July 26, 2010 was the same woman who cut my hair today. I remember her asking last year if I had children. I told her I was about 20 weeks along with our first child... I'd learn of the gender later that day! So excited, so anxious. Today, I was so incredibly nervous she'd ask that question again... but she didn't. Perhaps having my paparazzi husband with me (sans child... tear) provided that answer.
That settles things. We will go everywhere together from now until eternity.
Cuh-lassy bra stap, Brandy. Classy.
After four separate measurements and rubber bands, the cut begins...
Can't see the hair, but that's only because it was like 100 degrees and oh yeah, I hate styling my hair. You can see the little ponytail sticking out from the back though!
Ready for shipment!
I love you my beautiful boy.
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