Mr. Oddly Genius always said he liked my hair but perversely refused to give any preference about how I arranged it. (I feel so Jane Austen saying that!) In all our years together it never seemed to make a difference what I did – he really didn’t care. As I said recently, “It’s nice that you really don’t notice or care if I leave my hair a mess, but at the same time it pains me that you don’t notice when I put extra effort into it. I suppose it is a good thing since I rarely do much with it.” As you might imagine, he did not respond to that comment!

I’m sure you can see where this is going but I think we all know you’ll finish reading it anyway. After the Mole was born I lost massive amounts of hair. It was both depressing and disgusting. I can’t understand how it didn’t destroy my vacuum as perfectly as it destroyed my self esteem! In any case, while I was acquiring a luxurious pregnancy mane during the Cucumber’s gestation I determined that I wouldn’t put up with the horrors of hair loss again. “If I must lose fistfuls of hair, it might as well benefit someone else!” I said. I decided I’d donate my (now very long) hair to Locks of Love a couple of weeks before delivery. I went to a private but not extravagant salon that I had visited once before. She was nervous about cutting off so much hair, especially when I said I’d never had short hair. But I assured her that I was convinced nothing could be worse than losing all that hair onto my floor. She gave me a simple bob and packaged up a long ponytail for Locks of Love. I headed to a baby shower feeling surprisingly “whatever.” I’ve read stories of women cutting their hair and feeling a loss of identity or other assorted traumas to their psyche.  I had wondered if I would have a surprise feeling like that and when I didn’t it seemed to prove my general antipathy toward hair. I hadn’t told very many people so it was fun surprising everyone – my own cousin didn’t recognize me! Everyone raved about how much less time it would take me and how cute it was. They were wrong and right. A french braid is very fast and mostly forgiving. A bob has to be blow-dried just so (with accompanying goop). But for the first time in forever I did feel cute. It’s a huge shock to me! Now, I’m not fishing for compliments and I didn’t say I’ve always felt like an ugly duckling. I’ve just never felt very pretty or cute. And it has always been mostly okay.

We now (finally) come to the pickle of the post: Do I keep my happy bob and see if it keeps me happy? Or do I grow it out like I promised the self-described “man who doesn’t notice physical appearance?”

I haven’t read Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts but I’ve been reading some blog posts from people who are writing about the book and it has inspired me to practice contentment, even thankfulness. I may be adding the book to my already lengthy reading list (though I have a problem with letting books not on the list cut in line) some time! Feel free to share in the comments if you are or have read the book or if there is a blog about the book that I should be following. Thanks!

I read this blog post today that felt like permission to continue with my slow pace for a little longer. I think Edie made a lot of good points but I don’t have time to discuss my reactions very much (surprise!). Here is the part that encouraged me to be at peace in my “rooting year.”

It’s gonna be a ‘flowering’ year. As I’m sure you can relate, some years are for roots and foundations. Those are the years that you have new babies or you move or start new jobs or your house burns down. Those years are hard to measure in terms of resolution progress. But they’re no less important. In fact, the rooting years are probably the most important of all. But they’re usually the ones that you’re glad to have behind you. I’m pretty sure we’re due a ‘flowering’ year here at the Wadsworths. I could be wrong but I see big huge hydrangea blooms in our future.

This is another “rooting year” for us and that is okay!As for resolutions? I’m just recommitting myself to the ones I usually make. I dofeel as though the focus of some of them has changed over the years. I can remember when resolving to “lose weight” turned into “get fit” and now it is . . . well . . . “MOVE because I like to.” I don’t have a date in mind for my next 5k, but running it isn’t a question this time.
Anyway. I’ll be around!

So yes, you get sliced open most unceremoniously and then stapled, glued, and taped back together like a packing box. It is hardly “natural.” But it really isn’t so bad.

1. You don’t feel anything. (The worst pain I have experienced over the course of three c-sections was with the Mole, when the nurses had “difficulty” getting my IV in. The first nurse tried twice, the second nurse got it on her second try.)
2. The doctors and nurses are very calm and the atmosphere is laid back (if also highly controlled). Everyone patiently explains what they are doing and what you should expect. They invite  you to ask for what you need! (During the surgery, obviously. Afterward you are as much at the mercy of the nurse on duty as anyone else.)
3. Scheduled. Need I say more?

The huge downside to a c-section, in my experience, is the recovery time. But even that isn’t what I would have expected or what most people seem to think. I feel fabulous (as long as I follow the rules). I just had major surgery, I shouldn’t feel this good, right? (And I’m not saying that on prescription painkillers.) In fact, I remember talking to a friend a week or so after the Sugar Plum was born and swearing to her that I would do it again next week it was such a piece of cake. Two more surgeries under my belt and it is much the same. Except now I can articulate what is so awful about it.

1. I feel great and I look fine. But I can’t do anything. I finally had time to take a walk on Wednesday and it felt so good to stretch my legs. They seemed to beg me, ”RUN! You can do it!” (I didn’t.) My arms and upper body instinctively reach out for my nearly 40 pound Mole (I did pick her up in a panic last week) without a thought for the way I am merely pasted together in the middle. 98% of my body feels like I could do anything. Anything. But I well remember from my recovery time with the Mole that 100% of me will regret doing everything I think I can do. I will feel as though I am being ripped apart despite the blessed Ibuprofen.
2. I feel so fraudulent. There is nothing visibly wrong with me! People don’t expect you to use a motorized wheelchair thingy at the grocery store even if you do have the baby with you. They can’t know how it hurts to walk the short length of the store. I feel so guilty asking for help with anything, so weak for admitting I can’t keep up. I’m a generally healthy, relatively young woman. But for 2 weeks or more I’m not supposed to lift anything over 10 pounds. Do you have any idea how limiting that is? For at least 6 weeks I can’t do anything remotely strenuous (like, say. . . window shop at the mall - I know this because I tried it once).
3. I feel so very defective. I am impatient to resume my usual activities. Yes, I can ask my husband to vacuum or mop the floor, move the overflowing hamper or whatever trivial thing and he is happy to oblige. But I want to do it myself like I am used to doing, like normal women do. I hate to wait, I hate to be dependent.

We celebrated Thanksgiving today and I didn’t do anything. My mother and sister cooked everything, brought everything and cleaned up (leaving me with leftovers!?).  I feel a little guilty, but probably a LOT more accepting than I would have been after either of my other two were born. I know SO much better what to expect, I understand that this stage is temporary.

I felt like Superwoman when I ran a 5k. I feel quite self-satisfied when I find the perfect way to explain a difficult concept to my children or when I find a particularly witty turn of phrase. I feel like Superwoman when I manage to have my house more organized and/or clean than not. (I’m not sure I remember how that feels.) Discovering I can recreate a fabulous restaurant type dish at home gives me a pretty heady feeling. “I can make hollandaise sauce! I can make English muffins!  I can make wonton wrappers!”
Funny how deflating it is after such a high to hear your child flub a simple math or grammar problem. Or disappointing when someone tracks dirt all over the floor and “rearranges” your tidy closet. How depressing is it, to clean up the huge mess in your kitchen. 

I would LOVE it if you commented with your list of what makes you feel powerful or wonderful. I may ask on Facebook or google+ so if you’d rather answer there that is fine! Or both!

The Mole (nearly 3): “Your nose looks weird.”
Me: “. . .”
The Mole: “It is my favorite. It is weird.”
Me: “. . .”
Later I tried to trick her:
Me: “Does my nose look funny?”
The Mole: “No. It looks weird.”