Samson

What a difference small things make. Hair. for example.

Curly hair does not fare well on bed rest. The shorter layer threatens to dreadlock within a half of day of constant contact with pillows, while the longer layer straightens to a fuzzy, itchy, irritating mess. The two together resemble a mushroom cloud sitting atop my head. And although I spend most of my time lying in bed, as a pregnant woman I also pee quite frequently, which puts me in a room with a mirror at least once an hour.

Which does not for a good mood make.

Instead, glimpses of one's rag tag self are utter demoralizing. It is hard not to fall apart when the image in the glass shows you clearly falling apart. It is hard not to feel something is wrong when you look like someone who is ill.

Today, on a whim, I rooted around in my bedside table drawer and came up with a barrette, a plain Goody barrette probably abandoned there during a previous decade. I grabbed the renegade former source of all my power, twisted it up and attached it firmly to the top of my head.

I felt instant relief as I laid my head down again: no more itchy neck reminding me how I was no longer capable of keeping myself groomed. I figured I probably looked like a cross between Pebbles Flintstone and Tweedledum, but that had to be better than the post-apocalyptic look I'd been sporting for a week now. But when I made my next pass through the bathroom, I was shocked to see that I actually looked more like a character from Wuthering Heights, albeit coming back from a having spent a night on the moors. Not a perfect look, but certainly a huge step up.

I can't help but notice that the rest of the day was a much happier day for me. And I've decided that instead of chalking it up to vanity, I'm going to look at it in a more biblical light.