About 2 weeks ago, I was exiting the bathroom at the office. All offices are different, but I think one ubiquitous feature is the presence of fluorescent lighting – a friend to no one. When coupled with a large mirror, every flaw is illuminated. No one can hide.
Anyway, I hadn’t messed with my hair in eons. Once upon a time, I lived to dye my hair. Back in high school, it was black. I was goth before it was goth (or the equally damning “emo”). I remember dying a white streak down the middle (Pe Pe le Pew, I guess) the day before our senior prom. Couldn’t tell you why. In any event, my hair stayed black for years and years. Eventually, I grew up and let it return to its natural brunette state. Every once in a while, I’d slap a bottle of dye on it – often auburn or a different brown color; I had noticed my first gray at 23 years old and once I reached a point where I could no longer simply pluck them out, I would seek to disguise them.
When I was knocked up with Stella, I was anxious to color my hair. I diligently waited until the first trimester was over per the recommendations, and then away I went. I think that may have been the last time I colored. I didn’t want Stella to come into the world via an old, hag-like mom. After that, I figured I’d just age “gracefully.” That is, until I saw myself in the bathroom mirror at work.
Holy moly, I had a ton of gray. I went immediately into a crisis of vanity. OK, I’m pregnant and therefore deserving of “wide load” signage. I can’t really do much about that at present without endangering someone. But my hair? I can color that. Who wants to bring a kid into the world looking like you have an AARP card in your wallet?? Off I went to the drugstore.
I selected what I thought would be a nice red shade. Reds over dark brown are usually fairly tame and don’t last. For those of you who have never colored your own hair at home, you learn quickly what to expect. The solution will “develop” as you go, going typically from a very pale to a very dark liquid. When you rinse, it’s never as dark as you think. This time, I looked like Ronald McDonald in the bathroom. The end result wasn’t much better.
In short, I have gone from feeling like a frumpy old lady to an old lady with age-inappropriate hair. This crap also seems to have some staying power. Despite a whole lot of shampoo, it ain’t budging. I guess at the very least I got my wish, and BY won’t be born to a gray mom. Just a goofy mom.