My hair has reached the point where it’s becoming more and more of a challenge. Basically, I have two choices: helmet head or butch. I’ve been opting for butch. Though it’s never been my aspiration to look like Ponyboy from The Outsiders, it sure beats the heck out of looking like a Mom Jeans model. Last night Hubster was griping about my hair being so stiff. I explained that without copious amounts of product, I have a helmet head. “No…you don’t have helmet head,” blissfully ignorant Hubster tried to reassure me. “Yes, I do…you just haven’t seen it without all the hair goo,” I explained. He was unconvinced, so I went in the bathroom and brushed my hair out. Then, for added affect, I combed the front down into little helmet head bangs. I went back into the dining room where he was working on his laptop. “See?” I said, pointing to my helmet. “Wow…I guess you do have helmet head,” he admitted. Yeah. Not something I’m really happy to be right about.
And another thing…hair this short is not adequate insulation when it’s cold outside. I’m so thankful that I’m not actually bald anymore, but sheesh! I’m used to way more protection than this ‘do provides. Why on Earth anyone would choose to have hair this short is quite beyond me. Sure, it doesn’t take much time to do in the morning, but I really never spent that much time on my hair anyway. I’d say I save 10 minutes, tops, by having hair this short. Not a fair trade for frostbitten ears.
Some of you already know this, but for those of you who don’t, I have another sister who is also due with her first child next week. Yep, that’s right. We’ve just got more babies than you can shake a stick at around here. The good news is that since Potato-Fork sister is actually near her due date, we presumably won’t be having all the drama that we’ve been having with Sister Basketball Fingers & Blink. Routine delivery…that’s what we’re shootin’ for on this next one. Of course, Potato-Fork sister has been ginormous and miserable and ready to be done with being pregnant for the last several weeks. Lately she’s been trying all those various old wives’ tales that you always hear are supposed to cause you to go into labor. She’s tried everything from eating spicy food to juggling cats, with no success. The only thing she hasn’t tried is castor oil—she’s not quite THAT desperate. Fortunately for her, the doctor said she won’t let her go past her due date, which is next Thursday. So at least there’s light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Heh heh.
So, some of you are probably thinking, “What’s up with this? This is supposed to be a breast cancer blog, not A Baby Story.” That, my friends, is where you are mistaken. This is neither a cancer blog, nor a sisters & babies blog. It is a blog chronicling my life during this whole cancer thing—and my life, folks, is NOT all about the cancer. Cancer is not my new identity…I’ll keep the old one, thankyouverymuch. In fact, I really don’t sit around and think about cancer much at all, and I tire very quickly of cancer conversation. Want to make my eyes glaze over in record time? Start talking to me about everyone you ever knew who had cancer.
What I do here is make observations on everyday life. My everyday things are sometimes different than yours unless you’re doing the cancer treatment thing, too. But sometimes they’re just normal, and that’s just fine by me.