Forrest Frump

I’ve had all kinds of thoughts whirling around in my head.  I just haven’t had time to purge them as you’ll see.  I’ll begin with a confession:  I’m feeling serious angst about my upcoming 40th birthday.  Yes, it’s just a number.  I can’t argue with that.  It’s said that children help keep you young.  I’d agree with that as well, although it’s hard to really feel that youth when you haven’t slept more than 3 hours at a stretch in a few weeks.  But I feel old and tired and seriously frumpy.  I don’t have much time for personal grooming.  I am still carrying 10 pounds of extra baby weight that seems like it’s settled in for the duration.  I can blame that on all kinds of things: the toddler diet I’m an active participant in, lack of sleep, increased appetite for carbs no doubt as a direct result of my constant fatigue, lack of opportunity (or energy) to exercise, getting older.  I feel like a dumpy washed-up mom.

So, in an extreme and possibly insane effort to counteract these feelings and jump-start a personal revolution for myself, I did something radical.  Something I’d always talked about doing but never had the balls to do.  Something I figured if I didn’t do before I turned 40 I never would.  Something I could tongue-in-cheek use as the basis for some qualitative scientific observations.

I dyed my hair blonde.  It’s almost platinum.

Where we began...

Where we began…


The process....

The process….


And processing....

And processing….


The end.  Sometimes I feel like Daenerys Targaryen, only older, fatter, and without the dragons.

The end. Sometimes I feel like Daenerys Targaryen, only older, fatter, and without the dragons.

I don’t know how I feel about it.  There are moments when I really like it.  Then there are moments that I really hate it and I wonder what the hell I’ve done to myself.  I think one of my biggest gripes is the disconnect between how my hair looks – sort of hip or punk, maybe? – and the rest of me – frumpy.

Am I having more fun?  I suppose there have been a few reactions that have been amusing.  Stella immediately loved my “sparkly new hair” and has chased me around all weekend with a plastic doll’s comb trying to groom me.  Felix looked a bit confused but rapidly took it in stride when it was feeding time and a boob came out (Men!).

I don’t think I’ll keep my hair this way for long.  I already have a 5:00 shadow on my scalp where my baby roots are showing.  I’m actually kind of glad to see them.  It means that I haven’t somehow stunted my hair forever.  When it’s all said and done, I hope this jump starts an era of frump banishment in my life.  Hell, I even wore heels today instead of “sensible shoes.”  It’s a low heel, but it’s not my mommy embellished sandals that I’ve lived in for months now.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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5 Responses to Forrest Frump

  1. I have been going through my own version of this frump that you speak of, but it’s the “turning 25” version. Women older than me can go ahead and laugh, but it seems that it happens to me every 5 years, which makes sense. Once at the beginning of a decade, and then at the midpoint. I’ve actually been thinking about getting a manicure, which is something that a few years ago I would have been dead set against. I bought my first pair of high heels last week, and I am too embarrassed to wear them outside but when I wear them home alone, I feel sophisticated. When you’re a teenager, you think you’re going to stay one way forever. At least that’s how it was for me. Now that I am half way through my 20s, I can see how everything is going to change constantly, especially myself. Great post, and even better hair. =D

    • larva225 says:

      Thanks and I don’t think it’s silly at all. I remember getting hit hard at 25. I called it my quarter-life crisis. I think I measured my actual life with everything I was “supposed” to have done.

  2. Meg C. DeBoe says:

    I dig the hair! 😉 I plan on going purple at 70. Care to join me?

  3. Pingback: Grays of Sunshine | Dramatic Momologue

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