My hair.
I like my hair. It’s really dark – I’ve been told by more than one stylist that people pay a lot of money to have hair the color mine is naturally. My hair has some frizz to it and can be either curly/wavy or straight with the right products and styling techniques. So it’s versatile.
At least in some climates. Humidity? No way. The only surefire way for me to get a good hair day in humidity is to put a ton of anti-frizz serum in it, give it a really good blow-out, and then take a flat iron to it, strand by tiny strand.
But I’ve never been blessed with the kind of hair that looks good on camping trips. You know how some girls, when they go camping, can roll out of their sleeping bag, put their hair up in a ponytail, and look cute as a cheerleader? Yeah. That’s never been me. Somehow camping gives me the gnarliest cases of bedhead ever. Bedhead that can only be fixed by squashing it down under a bandanna. I have a few weird cowlicks that I can normally tame, but when I’m camping, they all stick straight up in the air and cannot be coaxed down.
I mention my hair because for the first time I can remember, I have gotten a haircut that I really truly hate. Despise. Abhor. I’ve had just-okay haircuts in the past, but never something I dislike as much as this.
What’s wrong, you ask?
It’s a Mom Haircut.
You know the type. When it looks like someone made a little hair helmet and set it on your head. Those of you who have seen me in person since the haircut will probably say it’s not that bad, but that’s because I’ve figured out how to finagle my hair into something a little more dimensional, and if I flat-iron the very bottom layers really well it loses some of the helmet look. Well, actually, the back of my hair is really cute. It’s the sides that look like a little helmet.
Serves me right for going to a stylist I’ve never met in desperation because my schedule and my regular stylist’s schedule just haven’t matched up.
Fortunately one of the benefits of being pregnant is my hair grows really fast, so it won’t be long before I can go crawling back to my regular stylist and beg her to fix it.
What about you? Any “hair raising” stories you’d like to share? 
