My New Stylist

You may remember me raving about my superstylist Suzie, who has been doing my hair for almost 4 years now. Suzie is a genius when it comes to cutting, coloring and styling hair. But when it comes to combing, she's no match for the new stylist on the block, my daughter Lola.

Lola recently came upon a tiny little doll comb with teeth on both sides. One side has very fine teeth, and on the other side they are even finer. Lola enjoys attempting to comb her hair with this toy, which is great because, as I've mentioned before, her hair is as fine as the teeth on that comb. Unfortunately, mine is not. But that hasn't stopped Lola from trying. One of her favorite things to do these days is to stand behind me when I'm sitting on the floor, doing my hair. She is undaunted by the fact that the comb does not seem to penetrate my thick curls in the least, and that she is unable to run it through. She pulls, she yanks, and she tries to force my hair into submission. I've made similar attempts with my hair in the past (though mine have been considerably less painful) and I've been equally unsuccessful.

Thanks to my new stylist, when I ran into Jennifer, a good girlfriend of mine, at the grocery store this evening, I was sporting what could best be called a frizzy halo. I wore very little makeup and a jersey dress that would have been cute, minus the virtual menu of stains that adorned the skirt. Jennifer, as always, looked sleek and flawless with her swingy straight hair, little black jacket and sequined slides. I felt a little like the proverbial hausfrau. Sigh.
This is the second time I felt like this today. Earlier, Lola, my husband and I were all standing in line at Target (I know - you envy me right about now) behind the most gorgeous woman. She wore a stylish but casual cream jersey top, trendy red shorts with cream stitching, and cream platform stilettos. She was thin and toned and her blonde hair was perfectly in place. I reminded myself that I'm pregnant and therefore fully entitled to be sporting a comically huge belly and hair that is impossibly thick and hard to control. I comforted myself further with the fact that I was a mommy who had barely made it out the door with her shoes on, so there was no way I could put as much effort into a trip to Target as a woman who clearly had a lot of time on her hands. Then she turned around and I saw it. There, strapped to the front of her lithe and faux-tanned body was a baby girl in a Baby Bjorn, looking pink and perfect and adorably dressed (as was Lola, I might add!). This woman had a baby! A young one! Probably not even 6 months old! And she was buying monstrously huge bags of dog food at Target in platform stilettos, much like I used to do pre-baby. Sigh. Again.
I don't know whether to feel tired or inspired.