Last night I thought I did it, I had him in bed by seven. Aaron went out for the night, and I was thrilled to have some quiet time to myself. Earlier, I had sent Aaron out for doritos and chocolate. (My PMS/Pregnant food. He eyed me a little shiftily after reading the shopping list. Not to worry, I said, it's ONLY PMS. Remember my earlier post, gloating about not having a period, therefore being exempt from woman hormones? Well, it returned. With a vengeance. Turns out I'm NOT one of those lucky women who doesn't get a period for the duration on breastfeeding. NOT FAIR!)
I had a bottle of Riesling in the fridge. I had a Margaret Atwood book half-finished that I couldn't wait to get back into. (The Robber Bride.) Oh, joy! I was even going to take the opportunity to do some internet posting!
Of course, I soon as I settled myself onto the couch, I heard Angus yell, "MOOOOOOOOM. Come and get me. You're not allowed to have fun without me!"
Actually it was more of a huffing, irritated fussing, which would have escalated into a cry, and then into full-blown, pissed-off screaming. He's not one of those babies who whimpers or bleats quietly.
I tried to just nurse him back to sleep, but he wasn't having it. Oh sure, he ate. But he didn't fall back sleep. Instead he bit my nipple and then grinned at me in the dark. I could see his eyes glowing mischieviously. That kid is going to be a very cheeky child, I think. A little devil, a monkey.
So I brought him into the living room and made him watch two episodes of Flight of the Choncords with me. (No cable yet, so we're at Blockbuster every night.)
I still got to eat my Doritos and chocolate, and drink my wine, so it wasn't a total loss.
Did I mention I was all dolled up and had nowhere to go? I had makeup on, my hair done, and I was dressed nicely, and my only audience was my five-month-old son, who kept narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me, because normally my hair looks like an electrocuted mop, and normally I'm still dressed in my pajamas, and I NEVER put makeup on anymore. (What's the point?)
I did all this because of this awful haircut I got. I had a coupon for a free haircut, from the Welcome Wagon, which was perfect because I had been moaning since we moved here that I needed a haircut, and how would I know where to go?
As soon as I got to the place and looked around, I should have left. The salon was in this lady's house, and it was a MESS! In my professional opinion, a hair salon should be kept clean and clutter-free. It's just kind of common sense, don't you think?
Then out walked an oompa-loompa. She was so overtanned she was orange, she had on these spray-on jeans tucked into THIGH HIGH, shiny, black hooker boots. And a button-down shirt. Her hair was over-thinned and overprocessed. (That should have been my next clue - I'm not a fan of overly textured hair, unless it's short, but I don't WANT short hair, nor did I want OVERTHINNED hair, and it looked like she was a big fan of the razor and thinning scissors. )
So I told her about how I'd done all these things to my hair and now I just wanted to grow it out and stop dying and have flowing, healthy, beautiful hair. I told her I had gone a little overboard with the thinning scissors on my own head. I told her I wanted the scraggly ends cleaned up.
So she says this, "Ok, well I'll just get the razor.."
NOOOOO!!!! I made her put the razor down. So you know what she did? YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID?? She took her thinning scissors and CHOPPED my hair.. AT THE ROOTS!!! WTF?
And I just sat there like a dummy, watching in disbelief as clumps of hair fluttered to the floor. I couldn't exactly stop her halfway through a haircut. Although in retrospect, I probably should have. And then got Angus to cut my hair, because I think he would've done a much better job.
So now my hair is much more thin and scraggly than before, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to have done. Experiences like these make me lose faith in hairdresser's as a whole. It's very disappointing. And if I wasn't traumatized BEFORE (which I was) about finding a new hairstylist, I've now given up, out of fear.
Anyway, the point of that story was to explain why I was all dressed-up with nowhere to go. I was in a pissy mood yesterday morning, because I woke up and remember that I had awful hair. Every time I run my hands through it, I get a huge shock because there's NO HAIR, and every time I look in the mirror I get pissed off all over again. I was stomping around in a foul mood all morning, fuming about my hair.
THEN, I decided to go through a box of clothes I hadn't unpacked yet. My pre-pregnancy clothes. Well, my body FEELS like it's back to normal. I thought it was. I honestly though all the scales I had stepped on that said I weigh 157 pounds were lying, off by about twenty pounds. Then I tried to put on a pair of my old pants, and they wouldn't even go over my thigh.
At this point I wanted to commit suicide. Can you imagine anything worse that having bad hair and being twenty pounds heavier than you used to be? Oh, the horror!
So in a moment of cleverness, I put makeup on, styled my hair, and put on flattering clothes, and minced around the house all day, feeling attractive. When Aaron came home, I was bending over in my sweater-dress and putting T-bone steaks in the oven to broil, and I'm pretty sure his jaw visibly fell open. Yes, I can be a good little housewife when I make the effort.
Making an effort over your appearance sure goes a long way. I couldn't see the point of it before, if I was just going to be hanging out with a baby all day. But subconsciously, it lifts the spirits.
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