When my little one was born, I had long hair. Past my shoulder blades long. Now, my hair has seen more than it's share of box dyes and abusive rubber bands over the years. By the time it gets to be that long - well, let's just say that Demi Moore has nightmares about hair like mine. I had perpetual "mom hair" tied in a knot at the base of my neck - falling out at all points.
Once the babygirl was able to really reach and grab my hair, I learned that hair unrestricted by hair paraphernalia was easier to untangle from fingers. I've gone short-short-shorter. I enjoy the freedom of short hair - and always have. At first, it is hard to not have the fall-back ponytail, but it isn't all bad to not have a crutch. Additionally, I just got my hair highlighted - and no not with the little brush that comes in the box that inevitably results in only half of my head with huge chunks of orangy-blonde. I got it professionally done. I like it - not love it. I'm not a blond anymore. I have tended toward very dark, mostly red tones for a long time. It's out of my comfort zone to be blond like I spent most of my high school and college years. It's growing on me though. I see short hair as not-so-new mom hair. Hair's greatest danger of getting chopped is after your wedding and after the first born is born. Check and check.
Of course with the current bob, it accentuates my headneck. This means I need to lose 5 pounds yesterday to have a long sinewy neck as opposed to the log that currently supports my skull. I have boxes of Little Debbies to blame for this. Posture has a bit to do with that as well. Screw posture.
The other realization that I had sitting in the beauty chair is that I need a tan. I spend all day - every day in front of my damn computer. Granted it's been 90 degrees outside for the past week and that's not the best weather to have a baby out in, but still. With blond comes tan. Not crazy dark, but enough to confirm with passers-by that I indeed do not live in a cave (although my eyes are surprisingly more sensitive to the sun than ever before). Translucency is no longer an option.
I refuse to do the coffin, so don't suggest it. Those damn things work too well, and I turn into a crispy orange-tinged freak. That is glaringly obvious when I'm holding my lovely olive-tone skinned baby. It's all natural for me.
Plus being tan makes me look skinnier which will in turn reduce the need for me to throw away all of my Little Debbie's still hidden around the house.