Over the past few days (almost a week now) I have been wondering what is going on with Mia’s hair. She was born a straight haired brunette but as her feistiness has emerged so too have the curls in her hair. This week, however, her hair took on a life of its own. She would awake from her nap rosy cheeks and smiley face with her hair so completely askew I wondered if she’d been break dancing on her face the whole time. Sometimes after some light play outside (in this outrageous March humidity) the frizziness would reach epic proportions. Even barrettes and hair elastics couldn’t contain it; they merely accentuated the erraticness.
What had happened to straight lace brown?
And then I looked in the mirror.
Oh, my poor Mia.
You may be a menace. You may not have an ounce of good intentions in your sweet little bones. But you have the poor unfortunate hair genes of your mother.
May your life be continually blessed but non-humid living conditions, an expensive flat iron and copious anti-frizz beauty products to tame the chaos I have bestowed upon you.
(But at least you don’t have your father's cowlicks…)
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