8. Ignoble Lengths

Shortly after Noble's birth, my hair resumed the irksome shedding I was so used to before getting pregnant. Increased levels of estrogen during gestation prevented hair loss, resulting in the thick mane you always hear those waddling beauties raving about. The persistent inconvenience of picking hair off our clothes, out of Bill's beard, out of my food, and out of Noble's armpits really should have been enough to get it cut already. Waffling about whether or not to pursue "the cut" while wrestling with infant fistfuls of hair and steady fall out, I noticed that mania had begun to replace the mane.

Way into fists around here

During labor my hair was my favorite prop, whipping hither and thither during contractions in centrifugal fury, the key force propelling me from one hell to the next.
Seven weeks later, it was just weighing down my curls and eating up precious minutes every day. And washing it? Thanks to baking soda and apple cider vinegar I only have to wash it once every two weeks but when the bill comes, I pay in handfuls. So, enough.  

In a political climate like this, it's the closest thing to moving to Canada. Having trouble digesting your current state of hairs? Pull the faithless elector card and get them to make the cut while they still can! A makeover will hardly soothe the sting of our election, but if you need a pick-me-up to get to work on brightening the future, pick up those scissors and get nasty with it. Consider the perks!
Noble rarely has my hair in her mouth, her diaper, or wrapped around her neck anymore. She doesn't get stabbed in the eye when I'm breastfeeding either, which is a real pip considering the razor sharp split ends I was sporting last week. 

I wish the very best for the next four years, dear readers. I really do. If you're in Austin and want to get teamed up with some allies, check out Austin Justice Coalition for some next steps. 

Much love and safety,
Amber