So last weekend my husband was out of town for another funeral. The person who passed is very near and dear to my heart, but when the services are in New York City, 4 days after the death and you have a family of five, not everyone gets to go. So I was home all weekend alone with the three kids. It actually wasn’t that bad. (I had a case of laryngitis, so yelling was impossible.) I was running us around town to different parks, stores, donut shops, anywhere to keep smiles on their toddler faces. Saturday morning I woke up, threw on some mascara, saggy jeans and a messy bun and spent the next 12 hours not doing anything to make me feel good about ME. (Well, until I crack opened the first beer.)
At one point I ran to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. Yikes. I was not looking cute. I stood there and stared at myself. My barely recognizable self. I looked really bad. I just looked like I didn’t care. And sometimes I don’t. But I realized in that moment, that I look like this more often than not. After waking up, dressing, feeding, babying three toddlers. Then working, schooling, blogging and just overall life, I never take any time to fix myself up. I don’t take care of myself at all. I stood there hating everything about the way Iooked.
I stood there, mad at myself for letting myself go. I want Matt to come home in a few days to a sexy, new, fresh wife. HHHMMMMM, I used to cut hair and I used to have bangs. Maybe that’s a good idea. I grabbed another beer and my phone for a quick youtube refresher on cutting bangs.
It was time.
At this point, I was mildly drunk, pretty emotional from the loss of this week and feeling pretty good about my skills. I went for it. After I put in a few layers, I pulled it all back and made the cut. Bam, I now have bangs. I just kept cutting and cutting. They got shorter and shorter and thicker and thicker. And damn girl… I looked good. The night continued, I was feeling great. Matt was going to love how cute and new and fresh I looked.
When I woke up and took a shower and began drying my hair…panic hit. What the fuck did I do??? Why the fuck did I cut my own hair??? These bangs were shit. I pinned them back and again, I was frumpy old me again. Here I was trying to feel better about myself and get some of that old confidence back that I used to own and I fucked my shit up. I spent that whole day worrying and stressing and playing with these lame bangs, it was kinda ridiculous.
Matt came home the following day. After a full day of freaking out over the bangs I decided to embrace them. I had no other option. I spent about an hour working on them (because you know I have all this time to fix fucking bangs) before I picked him up. And by the end, I was feeling good again. I looked different. That was all it was. I had become comfortable in my frumpy state and these cute bangs were just different. Cute and new and different. I did a full on makeup session and felt beautiful. I could not wait for him to see me.
I meet him at the airport. He gave me a great greeting, a great hug and a great kiss. I was all smiles just waiting for him to say something about my bangs. The fucking bangs I had spent the last 48 hours FREAKING out about. I got nothing. Through dinner, welcome home booty, breakfast the next morning…NOTHING.
I was bummed, but I guess that is just life. I am sure Matt has noticed a difference in my looks. He knew me and how cute I was before kids. He sees me on those rare occasions now that I do dress up and he appreciates it. He sees how fucking hard I work at life and understands working on myself with fancy hair and makeup is not a part of my daily journey at the moment. To him, I didn’t look that different that day. I just didn’t look like an old mom. He was so excited to see me and that’s all I should really care about, right?
It has been over a week and he still has not mentioned the bangs. But no one else has mentioned them either. So maybe it really doesn’t look that drastic. Maybe I look the same. But to me I look different. I do look better. And I know that is all that should matter. But seriously, I stressed for days over him thinking these new bangs were ugly…turns out he doesn’t think they are. He just doesn’t notice them at all. Fucking men. Fucking self-esteem issues. Fucking bangs.