Too much excitement just might kill me!
I need a haircut. A trim, anyway. I haven’t had my hair cut since I was pregnant with Monkey, so it must be at least 2 years. I know it’s time because whenever I sit down, I sit on the end of my plait.
But I’m lazy. And cheap. If I could figure out a way to cut it myself I would – I’ve been doing my own fringe for years (with varying levels of success!).
Plus, when Monkey was younger I found it hard to schedule time away from him for something like that. In fact, personal grooming has taken a turn for the worse since I became responsible for this little human – gone are the days of finely sculpted eyebrows, purchased during my lunch break and paid for with money I earned. These days I count it a win if I can shave my legs and my armpits on the same day. Although if I’m honest, I was never much for spending money or time on hair, or makeup, or clothes. I generally can’t be bothered with that stuff, but I miss having the choice.
And that sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.
Nevertheless, Monkey now has a predictable nap time (although the length is still highly variable!) and he can happily be apart from me for more than enough time for a haircut.
So why haven’t I done it yet?
Having given up my reasonably well paying career to stay home with Monkey, but still being responsible for the household finances, I now feel like it’s my duty to spend as little money as possible. Of course I rarely manage it, and Hubs tries to actively discourage this tendency, but I have real trouble with it if the money is going on something specifically for me, something I see as frivolous. If I can justify it as something Monkey needs, no problem, but spending money on myself has become a challenge.
I suppose this is a manifestation of the subjugation of me as an individual into me as mother. (I’m not sure that sentence even makes sense – I suppose that’s what I get for blogging in bed on my phone instead of sleeping!). In any case, when we have a child, mothers in particular tend to give up so much of ourselves to that role that we forget to take care of ourselves. I’m sure that’s a revelation to no one, but like everything with motherhood, I’ve never truly understood it until I’ve been there.
This is also part of why I’m not so secretly terrified to have another baby. I feel like I’m just starting to get (small) parts of my life back to myself, and I am selfishly loathe to give them up again!
How do I convince myself that it is both OK and necessary for me to occasionally do things just for me? I know it intellectually, but I struggle to overcome my ridiculous tendency towards self-sacrifice. (Also, tips on how to stop blogging when I should be sleeping would be much appreciated).
Now I’m going to take my own advice, put down the phone and go to sleep! (Is bed-blogging like drunk-dialling? Do you always regret it in the morning?). Oh dear.