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!)