I hate it less today.

So, I'm getting used to the hair, and I hate it less today. It still isn't quite what I imagined, but ultimately, it's only hair and it grows back. Plus, it is super easy to take care of now and I absolutely love that part.

I've been experimenting with sculpting wax and a headband and I think it's working for me. The headband makes the whole thing look younger so I'm moving away from middle aged, at least. I don't know if I've hit 25 yet, but I'm at least back in my 30s. The key for me is that even if it's not the perfect cut I envisioned, it has to be simple and quick to style. I am admittedly bad at doing my hair (or anyone's for that matter), so I tend to wash, put up and go with long hair. With short hair, 'm willing to make more of an effort, but it still can't take longer than two or three minutes. Especially with Butterbean en route. :-)

So, all in all, after a few days of getting used to it, playing around with styling accessories and just coming to grips with the fact that though I didn't get what I wanted, it's not the end of the world (or my appeal to my husband), I think I at least don't hate this hair anymore. I don't know if we've turned the corner to love, but we're at least at a mutual understanding.

P.S. After seeing the photo I posted yesterday, maybe now everyone sees why I don't put pictures up on my blog. I know it makes the whole thing more boring, but I am a terrible photographer (there, I said it), and that particular picture made me look like a deer-in-headlights. Even with the tons of makeup I put on beforehand. Kinda scary...

You can't always get what you want.

In today's episode of good news/bad news: I got a hair cut.

Good news? I will save a ton on shampoo and conditioner. It's much easier to deal with. I won't wake myself up rolling over on my hair and Allen won't accidentally wake me up by rolling over on it and pulling it. No more flying hair in my face on windy days. No more pulled hair when I try to wear it up in a pony tail or barrette.

Bad news? I hate it.

Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of it. And I love having short hair and getting rid of all the hair I was weighed down with. But the cut? It's bad. Or maybe it's just bad on me. Either way: I hate it. The thing about being pregnant is your hair does some pretty awesome stuff. I don't shed anymore (it's a hormone thing) so I have the thickest, most ridiculous hair ever. It's pretty amazing/awesome. Also, my hair used to look pretty greasy and nasty if I didn't wash it every day, but now I can go two whole days without washing my hair and not look like a greaseball. Again: amazing/awesome. This will all come crashing down when Butterbean is born, but for now, I have to say, I have pretty awesome hair. Which is why I needed a haircut so badly. First my hair has been growing like crazy so it was getting pretty long. Second, I needed something that was easy to deal with when Butterbean gets here. I definitely got both of those things, but the cut is just bad on me.

I have proof.

This is what I wanted:

Yes. That is Alice from the "Twilight" movies. Hate on the source material all you want, but that is a super cute haircut.

This is what I got:

Please excuse the gross spotty mirror. But you see my dilemma now? And I took this while my hair was wet and had a lot of sculpting wax in it and after I put on a bunch of makeup. Trust me, it's for the best. When it's dry, the super short layers on top lie flat while the rest curls and poofs and I look like a freaking poodle. With wings. To be fair to the "stylist" I re-cut my bangs when I got home. She left them long and they looked weird and so I chopped them shorter. I actually like them the best out of everything, but they were clearly cut by someone who should probably not be allowed near hair and scissors. (Which could apply to either me or the "stylist", come to think of it.)

I wanted to get a hair cut that would look young and modern. But instead of subtracting 10 years from my face, this cut added 10. No, no. It's okay. I know it did. I look like a middle aged fourth grade teacher. Or rather, I look like my middle aged fourth grade teacher. From 1984. It's not a flattering look on me and I'm going to have to work extra hard for the next few weeks to look cute rather than middle aged. Extra hard. Lucky for me my hair is growing fast. Maybe by the time February rolls around it will be longer and cuter. I certainly don't want to look like this in Butterbean's birth day photos. ::shudder::

The other bad news? I didn't tell anyone I was doing this. Allen is in for an unpleasant surprise when he gets home. But in my defense, I honestly thought I'd be a lot cuter when he got home today.

(Edit: Allen was surprised when he got home, but claims to love my hair and think it's super cute. I'm pretty sure he's required, by law, to say that. Yep. Just checked the marriage contract. It's in there. Also, I was planning to be funny about my bad hair cut when he got home, but instead I burst into tears. Pregnancy hormones are killing me!)

More hair.

I think Butterbean is growing more hair right now. Because the heartburn is back and super not fun. I thought I was so lucky. The first bout of it only lasted a few days and then went away. I gloated a bit (to myself) about escaping the worst of the dreaded pregnancy heartburn, and now I am paying for my arrogance. Kind of like with the stretch marks (which are now all the way up to my belly button and show no signs of stopping there). At least this means he'll (hopefully) not be super bald when he's born. Ordinarily I love bald babies, but since he's a Winter baby, I was worried about his little head getting cold. Hopefully this is a sign that he'll have hair to keep his little noggin warm. Fingers crossed...

Also, at my 30 weeks pre-natal appointment (two weeks ago), the midwife measured me at 33 cm. Now, you are supposed to measure the same number of centimeters as you are weeks pregnant, so I should have only been around 30-31 cm. (From pubic bone to the top of the uterus.) The measurement is pretty subjective depending on who is doing the measuring, so I just thought she was measuring large and didn't say anything. Well, at my 32 week appointment yesterday, I measured at 37 freaking centimeters! That is huge! A variation of plus or minus three centimeters is fairly normal, but five?! Five is definitely measuring big. The midwife explained that the biggest measurements happen during weeks 32-36 because the baby is still shifting position and hasn't dropped down into the pelvis yet. But still. I'm not likely to measure any smaller after this, so now I'm fairly convinced that I am going to birth some kind of monstrous 25 pound baby. I've still only gained 30 pounds total, which I was feeling pretty good about, but apparently Butterbean is drawing in extra calories from an alternate dimension or something. He has physicist parents so he's a quantum baby. There is a finite probability that he is absorbing calories from an alternate universe version of me.

The midwife did include the caveat that the belly measurement wasn't all baby. There was a "significant amount of Mama" in there too. Which was her polite way of saying that I came, ahem, pre-padded. Thanks, lady. Luckily, this midwife only does office visits on busy days, so she will not be at our birth. Anyone who calls me fat is automatically kicked out of the birthing experience. Whether it's true or not! :-)

Better late than never.

This is only tangentially related to babies, but I thought it was brilliantly written. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee (AKA The Yarn Harlot) wrote a great blog post on the proper way to receive a knitted gift. If you have a knitter in your life, I highly recommend reading this post. In fact, if you have ever received a handknit gift from someone, I think it should pretty much be required reading.

The one thing I would add is that if you don't like and/or are never going to wear said handknitted gifts, it's okay to say so. Um, later, that is. Be appreciative up front, but be honest if you just don't want handknits. Knitters put way too much time and energy and effort into each gift to have it languish on a shelf or on a hanger or in a storage box somewhere. (This actually goes for any handicraft...) Knitted gifts are meant to be worn and loved. I have knit things for family members that I put a lot of thought and time and money and energy into, and sometimes I get the feeling that they would have preferred a gift card to a favorite clothing store. And honestly? I'm not offended. There are plenty of people (including Allen or any of my knitting friends) who would love and use something I've made and I'd rather it was worn and loved. You aren't going to hurt my feelings if you also want it to go to a different home. You are going to make me very happy, in fact, knowing that the item will be appreciated rather than hidden away.

So, if you have a knitter in your life who gives you handknit gifts, consider yourself lucky. Even if it's the ugliest, scratchiest sweater in the entire universe, they thought about how much they loved you with every stitch.

Meatless Monday: Christmas traditions.

Everyone seems to have a Christmas meal tradition. If you grew up in my family, you would have had cheesy meatless lasagna with assorted veggies (olives, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, etc.) and garlic bread for Christmas dinner (or Christmas Eve, depending). It's a tradition my brother and I continued into adulthood, and only recently, when Allen and I became vegan, did we abandon the tradition. It's a little sad, but there really isn't any vegan substitute for what we had, so I'd prefer to let the memory of a delicious meal remain a fond one and start a new tradition instead. (My parents went out to visit my brother in Arizona this year for Christmas, and they did, in fact, have the "traditional" lasagna.)

Since we are on the eve of having our first baby, it's time to start some traditions of our own. And, since it was just the two of us this year, we tried what we thought was something novel. Chinese food on Christmas. Turns out, not so much. There was actually a wait for a table at our favorite Chinese place. We were kind of shocked. The food was delicious - our local place has an extensive vegan menu - and was much more cost effective than putting on a huge "traditional" Christmas dinner for just two people. I don't know if this will be our go-to family tradition from here on out. We're unlikely to have many Christmases with "just us", and I'm not sure how amenable either of our families would be to Chinese Christmas dinner. I'm not even sure it's something I'd like to do frequently. It was a nice change of pace, to be sure, but there's something about baking and cooking while chatting with family and smelling the pies in the oven that just screams Christmas to me. Maybe my own old traditions are buried deeper than I thought?

One tradition that we've started that is sure to stand the test of time: homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast on Christmas morning. There is a super easy (with a stand mixer) recipe in Colleen Patrick-Goudreau's Joy of Vegan Baking. (Pages 175-176, available in the Google Books preview.) It's well worth your time.

I hope your holidays, whatever your cause for celebration, were happy and full of fun and loving (and maybe one or two of them meatless...) traditions.

Overdoing it takes a lot less these days.

They sure don't make 'em like they used to. And by 'em I mean me.

I had a totally normal day yesterday. Got to the gym for the first time in a while and went swimming - felt pretty good about it too and specifically did NOT overdo it since it had been a while. Went grocery shopping (for the apocalypse, apparently, but that's a different post), and was planning to clean up the house and vacuum before dinner. I smelled like chlorine so I decided a shower was in order... Went to pick something up off the bathroom floor and BAM! Back spasm. But not just any back spasm, oh no. A back spasm accompanied by a distinct cracking sound.

My first thought, and I'm not even kidding, was that the baby kicked while I was bent over and cracked my pelvis. I'm a little lot embarrassed to admit that I had a flash of Bella-gives-birth-to-vampire-spawn. I didn't cry, but it was close.

Long story short, a day later and my back is still in agony. I'm calling the chiropractor to see if he has any appointments today. I'm also feeling like a housewife failure right now. The house is slowly creeping back to messy wreck and I was planning on a sparkling house for Christmas. I've discovered that your ability to make things sparkle is severely hampered when you can't bend your back at all or stand comfortably. Poor Allen is going to have to clean and make dinner. I hope he doesn't break under the weight of the chores. ;-)

I need to try harder, I think.

I always wanted to be a young mom. That ship has clearly sailed, which, granted, is a good thing. I'll be a much better mom now than I would have been in my 20s. It's a fact. But since I can't be a young mom, I decided I wanted to be a cool mom. The kind of mom who is well-dressed and pretty and never looks like a slob. I have several friends who are this type of mom and it's something to which I aspire.

Um. I'm falling short of the mark. My sweet, patient, kind and long-suffering husband told me, out of the blue, while we were waiting for the metro yesterday, that I looked really pretty. I was wearing a new sweater, make-up and super cute shoes, and I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. (I had a luncheon to go to with my old work group.) His compliment made my day even better, but it also made me realize that he usually sees me in various combinations of sweats and pajamas.

When I leave the house, I generally try to dress well and at least have clean hair if not make-up. I'm not the type who has to "put on her face" before leaving the house, but I like make-up and I like feeling like I look good (extra few pounds notwithstanding, cough). And if I'm willing to put on make-up and wear nice clothes to meet a friend for coffee, shouldn't I be willing to put the same effort in for the man I love? Granted, he doesn't see me for the majority of the day, and when he gets home, he wants to change out of work clothes and into comfy ones, too. So maybe lazy clothes if I'm indoors all day isn't such a bad thing?

I'm still feeling like I should try a little harder. My husband is the best man I know, and I never want him to feel taken for granted. I'm not going to start getting up at 5am so he only ever sees me in full make-up, or anything like that, but maybe changing out of my PJs in the morning would be a good start. :-)