Here’s what I think. I think you can tell a lot about how a mother’s day has been going by looking at her hair.
In support of my argument, I submit into evidence Item A.
And just for good measure, Item B.
Can you guess what kind of day The Little Mumma was having?
I think this measurement tool can work regardless of hair type. For instance, my friend Saucy has FABULOUS hair. I mean, annoyingly, ‘does nothing with it but still manages to be great’ hair. The type of hair you could see yourself shaving off in a jealous midnight rage. Saucy and I were neighbours for a year or so and in that time, I saw her fabulous hair A LOT. And even though comparatively, I thought her hair always looked amazing next to mine, that voluminous hair was speaking volumes. Yes, her worst hair day was akin to my best but still, there were degrees of hair awesomeness and this had everything to do with how her day with two under two had dawned.
I have shit hair. But observe evidence Item C.
Hair is still shit and almost devoid of any of the cute blonde factor The Little Mumma fancies herself to be but you can see that an effort has been made. And on realizing this was the best the hair was going to get, note how The Little Mumma has attempted to distract the beholder with a bright scarf knotted ever so cleverly about the neck. The Little Mumma is determined to have a good day, frightful regrowth or no.
And so I submit to you, The Little Mumma readers, that there is no Bad Hair Day but rather Bad Day Hair. I wake up to genetically bad hair EVERY day but depending on how every little thing is going, I either summon the will to have a red hot hair go or as seen in Items A and B, tie it up so as not to wet it in the shower and then revisit the issue no more.
But here’s my hot mumma tip. If you can summon the will, DO. For me, my day just goes better when I am a/ showered b/ haired c/ make-upped and d/ a childless and carefree twenty-something once again. Being that I have dispensed of option d (rather rashly, in hindsight), options a, b and c are often enough to lift me up and out of the mumma funk. I need to prepare myself as though I will be out and amongst people rather than stuck at home with dried weetbix stuck to the arse of my pants and a snot streak on my shoulder. Psychologically, it gets me into the day. Sets the tone for the day ahead. Even tracky dacks are a danger item because I equate them with curling up and napping which is invariably what I end up feeling like doing. And then the resentment kicks in when no-one else feels like napping. Then nap-free children take on that special kind of feral and before you know it, see Items A and B.
Bad Day Hair. It’s real, people. And it could be happening to YOU!
So what has motherhood taught me today? I need my roots done PRONTO.