Me minus 14 inches

My neighbors must think I'm self absorbed because I can't stop checking myself out in the mirror. Wait, maybe I am self absorbed because I think my neighbors are watching me...

My mom came over to watch Aubrey while I went to go get my hair cut - no, chopped off today. She was here a little after 2:30 and Aubrey was a tad bit fussy but I didn't give it a second thought; my mom watched Aubrey two Sunday's back and they did great together.
I get to the salon and I'm sitting on the bench waiting to meet my new stylist (my old one is gone so I was taking a pretty big gamble with some random chick). She introduced herself and asked what I wanted to do with my hair - mind you my hair looked like I just survived a tornado because I only had time to wash it and half-way blow dry it. I announced I wanted a "mom cut" but told her "not a soccer mom cut!". She gives me look as if she smelled dog crap and said "Hey, I'm a soccer mom." Grrrreaaaaat.
So she gets to washing my hair and we do the simple elevator conversation. I sit in her chair and show her the picture of what I wanted my hair to look like. She says she can do it no problem as she parts my hair into two sections, rubber bands them and chops off close to 14 inches. She starts cutting and loudly notices my massive amount of grey's. She caused enough of a commotion for the receptionist and the stylist next to her to come check out the 22 year old grandma. Wonderful. So she starts talking to me about hair dye and I explained I do it myself but haven't done it since January because I was only allowed to dye my hair so many times while I was pregnant and I was waiting to get my hair cut so DIY dying would be easier. She tells me that she dyes pink streaks in her 5 year old daughters hair all the time and when my daughter is older to bring her in with me so she could do it for Aubrey. Uhm, I think not.
Maybe it was the awkward conversation, the worry about the cut or the blow dryer but I started to sweat, you know, that between-the-boobs sweat. But then, wait a minute, I've never had under-the-boobs sweat... Nope. Not sweat. I was leaking. Wonderful. I try to ignore this mommy-syndrome and focus on my hair cut which is getting shorter and shorter. The stylist proclaims it looked like I had a mullet so she gave me the mirror and spun me around and there it was - a bubble-butt looking mullet. So the style had to go even shorter. Now I was sweating for real - was this revenge for the soccer mom comment!?!
An hour and a few minutes later and I was a whole new woman rocking a cute bob. I love it. I'm at the check out thanking the stylist and accepting all the compliments from the receptionist and other stylists. She hands me a bag with my pony tails to donate to Locks of Love. I started joking with her "I didn't even want this, I feel bad donating my old split ends with a bad dye job". She looked at me and said in such a matter-of-fact way "But it's for kids with cancer". Seriously, I just spent the past hour with you and you still don't get my sense of humor lady?
I fought rush hour traffic and got home to my red-faced, foot stomping, screaming baby. My mom said she got a total of 2 smiles out of her and the only time she wasn't crying was when she took a 5 minute nap in her arms. I smile at her and say "hello sweet girl" and she gives me this look like "who the hell are you?". My heart sunk in that instant - I regretted chopping even a centimeter off of my hair because I thought my baby didn't recognize me. Two seconds later this sly little grin creeped across her face. All was good in the world.
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