Hair

I so need a hair cut.
I haven't had a hair cut since, oh, let's just say well before Lauren was born. And Lauren is only a few days shy of being eight months old.
The problem lies not in the matter of looks. Goodness knows I'd let my fingers serve as hair brushes often enough. I'm happy as long as I get to shower in the morning and don't have visible drool, spit up, or food in my hair before I leave the house. The problem lies in the matter of my sanity and the preservation of my hair.
You see, Lauren loves my hair. It provides her a safety hand hold and something to chew on. With my hair reaching my shoulder blades, Lauren doesn't need to reach to get to it. Whenever she climbs into my arms or gets picked up, she first gets a fist full of my hair. A stranger comes close? Grab on tight. Mommy lower her onto the floor? Grab on tighter. Occasionally, the grab would be accompanied by a pull, and off comes a few strands of hair. I am forever reclaiming a fallen hair from between her fingers or between her toes. Have you ever noticed how baby toes pick up random things from the floor?

It's rather pathetic, but getting a hair cut seems such an insurmountable challenge.
First off, I have Asian hair. I need someone who understands Asian hair to do the cut. When I told Evelyn I have Chinese hair and need a Chinese hair cut, her father who was right beside me gave snorted in amusement. Dude, you can snort all you want, but you have no idea how serious I am about this Chinese hair thing. Case in point. Every non-Asian hair dresser I've ever came across commented on my straight hair. My straight, silky hair. Let us examine my straight, silky hair a tad closer, shall we. Let us randomly pluck off a few strands of hair, just as Lauren so often does several times a day, you'd find straight ones, wavy ones, and ones that are so zig-zaggy, they look like non-springy springs. As a matter of fact, during my teenage years, some of my straight, silky hair has such a ridiculous tight curl, it was a dry, puffy mane. I often imagine myself as a walking ball of dandelion. When the wind blows, my hair explodes in all directions. Don't believe me? Ask any one who knew me during my 9-12 grad years.
Any how, the crazy hair is behind me. But getting a good hair cut is still a challenging task. My safest bet is to get it in China town, which involves getting a baby sitter, making the 45 miles drive, and dealing with Boston traffic and parking. Just thinking about it makes me tired and lazy.
Writing this much about hair makes me tired and lazy.
So, I badly need a hair cut...