I started to tell you all about Pixie’s surgeries, but I couldn’t stand my own angst.
I’ve been very stressed and Pixie’s determination to break herself further has made a major dent in my ability to cope. We had a terrible day recently where she was in a lot of pain from nobody knows what and we’d already been back to Children’s Hospital twice in the last few days for it. Personally, I like knowing things. I’m an academic at heart, which also means “fairly useless” if you think too hard about it, and I like answers very, very much. This not knowing bit is probably giving me ulcers.
Sidebar: I’ve been growing my hair out, which never seems to work out well. A few years ago, a good friend (who also happens to be an asshole) decided my hair made me look like Severus Snape.
So the kid’s been crying all day, I’m a nervous wreck, and I look it. No make-up and my hair has the frizz from hell and I’m looking in the mirror thinking I kind of look like He-Man. Do not let his heroic legacy fool you: this is not a good look for a frumpy, 30 year old housewife or for ANYONE ELSE EVER. Completely shallow, I’ll grant you, but I couldn’t take it. And the one thing I can fix right now is my hair.
So I did.
And I feel like far more weight than just my hair has been lifted from my shoulders. I can’t explain it, but sometimes you just need to whack off all your hair so you can start breathing right again.
