I am addicted to my hair. Really addicted. I love sitting in a salon having the stylist run her fingers through my hair. I would pay money daily to have them wash and dry my hair. Who wouldn't? The only problem is I don't have that kind of time on my hands. Actually, I'm pretty sure the last time I got my hair done was in early March. GASP!
I'm a religious every 6 week-er. Sometimes more frequently. When I was younger, I had gorgeous strawberry blonde hair that matched my freckles and blue eyes perfectly. Then I decided it wasn't quite blonde enough for me. Stupid Leah. Sometimes I wish I could go right back to the beautiful glistening strawberry blonde, but those of you who take part in the coloring world know that once you've gone, there's no going back. (Ry will not be able to color her hair until she's 23. The end).
Today was my hair day. When I was 39 weeks pregnant with Ry, I chopped my hair all of. Short. Major short. Now I wish it would grow back. Moral to the preggos out there - don't cut your hair when you're pregnant. It won't be easier to care for - I PROMISE. Oh yeah, I digress, hair day. I got my hair colored today for the first time in months. I was starting to look like the reverse version of a skunk. Black in the middle and blonde on the outside. Ugly does not even describe it. Well, new hair - hello. Thanks for joining me.
I feel so much better now. Refreshed definetely. Salon days make life wonderful. The only thing better is movie day curled up on the couch cuddling. And the victory at the end of labor. Okay, there are several things better, but it was wonderful!!!