It’s a blessing to new moms that we are so tired for the first year(s) that our hair (or in my case, lack of hair) seems like a trivial thing. But when I had an opportunity to go out with adults for the first time and I showered, put on non-yoga pants and applied makeup, I noticed my hair was totally different.
But so was I. Now a wife, a mother, and a 40-year-old with life experience enough to know that nothing is forever, even a bad hair day. Or week. Or year. Eventually it grew back, less curly, less thick, darker brown than before. But at least it grew back.
Currently my hair is short, which feels just right for spring, just right for who I am now: A writer, an entrepreneur, a play-date organizer. I can make it work straight or curly, depending on what role I’m playing that day. On days that we (my hair and I, that is) disagree on our intentions, it is no longer traumatizing. If it is, I put on a hat or headband, and go on as planned.
Nothing can stop the Hair Bear, not even a bad hair day.