It seemed like a good idea at the time

I have a fantasy of people saying to me: "Wow! You don't look like you had a baby (four) months ago!" My experience has been, however, that 90% of the time, people say nothing to me because I don't speak German, and the other 10% of the time, their eyes seem to say "Yeah. That seems about right." (Incidentally, my next child will not be born near to when supermodel Gisele Bundchen decides to grace the world with another spawn. Photoshop or not, seeing her post-birth pictorials is just rough.)

To freshen myself up a bit, I decided a haircut was in order. I decided this awhile ago, but it took a month or so to follow through. When my friend Sarah mentioned that she was getting her hair cut the following day and that she had to bring her son with her, I offered to tag along, get my own 'do, and trade off baby whispering with her. To prepare for this trip, I packed every toy that Edie has ever liked, strapped the baby on in the Moby wrap and pushed an empty stroller across town. (I indicated in an earlier post that Edie was growing to like her stroller. New results are in on this matter, and they laugh heartily at previous reports.) Add in pouring rain and two train rides, and then me and my six months worth of split ends had arrived.

I took the first shift with the babies, which was the easy one. Edie tolerated sitting in her stroller for the first half hour or so, and Sarah's baby was an angel as always. Then it was my turn, and I had my doubts. Edie's eyes were now rimmed red with exhaustion and my stylist was the only one in the place who wasn't fluent in English. She cut my hair, but I wouldn't call it a "hair cut," as that implies rhyme or reason. I now both look just like I had a baby four months ago and like I took that fact out on my hair.