I have really long hair…

Pregnancy hormones reduce the amount of hair loss during  a normal growth cycle. Then, a few months post delivery the extra hair you accumulated over the course of your pregnancy all falls out.

I am currently in that stage.

Since my hair is so long, it is everywhere. I sweep and vacuum and roomba up hair all day everyday it seems. (When I’m not bouncing, rocking, nursing, burping, playing, changing, feeding, cooking, wiping, reading or bathing of course.)

When the great hair fall out happened three years ago with my son, I was so frustrated with finding it everywhere- even in his mouth and diaper- I vowed to chop it all off if I ever had another baby.

So here I am.

I’ve decided to cut 10 inches off and donate it to Locks of Love. If not, it will just end up in places I don’t want it, and sweeping up short hair has got to be easier. I would not normally draw attention to a donation, but if I write about it here, I have to do it. I need the accountability.

I have a bit of a  Samson complex when it comes to my hair, and fear I will lose my powers if I cut it off. I suppose this stems from the fact that I paid my rent with money I earned from doing hair commercials for over 6 years, and what if Pantene calls again and I’ve chopped it off?

This is clearly a worry I needn’t have. For one thing, I am a full time mom now, and even if they did call I would not have time to shoot the commercial. For another, every model in hair commercials these days has a head full of hair extensions.

So I will put my hair in a pony tail, measure 10 inches, lop it off, and send it in. I will not complain or regret my choice, knowing my hair will be used in a hairpiece for a little girl in need, and not on my bathroom floor.

I’ve spent the majority of the last week frustrated about dealing with thrush, not getting enough sleep, and battling various viruses in our home.

But days like today put everything in perspective.

What I remember most about the weeks that followed September 11, 2001 was the real feeling of people loving other people on the streets of New York City.

Perfect strangers would hug each other on the street corners. There was a palpable spirit of unity and everyone wanted to do something to help.

I volunteered to prepare and serve meals at Trinity Church to the many people who were searching for survivors at Ground Zero, but everyday I was turned away because there were too many people there to help.

I remember thinking, “I hope this lasts. I hope everyone, including myself, can remember the generosity, sense of community and compassion for humanity we feel in this moment.”

But as weeks turned into months I forgot, and life on the streets of New York mostly seemed back to normal.

48% of the people who died on September 11th had children under the age of 18.

And here I was this morning upset over the dirty dishes in the sink.

My children have their mother. What they need is a mother who finds joy in the seemingly trivial and mundane parts of the day.  The endless meltdown diffusing and question answering and nose wiping and lunch making and book reading and dish washing and laundry doing are all things I get to do.

Remembering this, I have given myself an attitude adjustment.

Though I may not get the sleep I desire, I am thankful that I am able to wake up to a new day.

Though battling mastitis and thrush have not been easy, I am thankful to have access to natural remedies and medical doctors who can help me heal.

Though watching my children suffer through infections is heartbreaking, I am thankful they are overall very healthy and recover quickly.

There are men and women who sacrifice their lives daily, so that I am able to comfortably sit in a rocking chair reflecting on years past while my baby peacefully sleeps on my lap.

Thank you for your service, thank you for your sacrifice. May we truly never forget.

Three years ago today I saw the face I had been dreaming about my entire life for the very first time.

Your sweet, perfect, angelic, beautiful face.

It was a hot Thursday in September and I could not wait to count your 10 little fingers and 10 little toes.

These days I often have to “count to three,” and you can count all the way up to 30.

I will never forget the first time I held you on my chest, which quickly went from you sitting on my lap, to sitting in a high chair, to jumping off off chairs.

I cherished the months when you were completely satisfied by mama’s milk….today you would love nothing more than living off of milkshakes.

Your little unswaddled legs kicking randomly turned into kicking a soccer ball all around my living room in the blink of an eye.

Today, after telling you I had happy tears the day you were born, you gave me a “happy kick.”

Three years ago today I stayed up all night just to watch you breathe. I learned very quickly that no matter what was going on, if I was holding you, you were happy. So I held you, and I held you. And I held you.

A friend of mine said, “people will tell you not to hold your baby too much or you’ll never be able to put him down. I say hold your baby all you want because soon enough he will say, ‘put me down mommy, I want to walk.'”

Three years later I know how true that is. Today you told me, “Mommy, now that I’m three, I can fly.”

Happy birthday son- even though there is almost no baby left in you, you will always be my baby.

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