Friday night I had some girlfriends over to watch The Breakfast Club and eat that dinner beloved by women everywhere: the dinner made up of appetizers. In related news, I think I may have overdosed on cheese products. The Breakfast Club is one of my all-time favourite movies, but when we watched it this time, we all started to wonder about our own children and their upcoming teenage years. That was a little unnerving. Will my children be a part of the physics club and hide flare guns in their lockers due to anxiety about an F in shop class? Do they even offer shop class anymore? I’m pretty sure they won’t be on the wrestling team and taping other kids’ butt cheeks together, but I suppose you never know.
The next day I had a hair appointment and, despite all common sense, advice from friends, and knowledge about myself and my well-authenticated fear of change, I ended up with 2 1/2 inches less hair. It started innocently enough; I wanted to refresh my colour as it had faded to a rather unattractive orange, and I had a discussion with my hair therapist (that IS her job title) about my fears of turning into Mullet Lady. Well, she said, why don’t we give it a little cut then? Nothing drastic. Remember Starsky and Hutch? DO IT.
It’s HARD to take pictures of yourself. Or, it’s hard for me.
Regrets, I’ve had a few. So as I was practicing non-attachment – it’s only hair, it grows, in a month it won’t be falling out of my teeny tiny bun – I attended a family dinner at my parents’ house. Now, here is a bit of background information for those of you who don’t already know this. Back in January I decided to give up my nightly glass of wine. I now only partake in wine consumption on evenings that I do not have to get up early for yoga the next day; in other words, Friday and Saturday evenings only. (I do practice on Sunday mornings, but not until 9:00, and there is only so much one can expect from oneself.) Yesterday, my mother asked if I wouldn’t like a glass of wine, and when I declined, she looked at me incredulously and asked if I was pregnant. Pregnant! My sister-in-law suggested that since I wasn’t huddled in a corner in the fetal position and sobbing, I probably WASN’T pregnant. She knows me well.
It did remind me of the pregnancy scare I had a few years back. My kids were one and two years old. I hadn’t had my period in months. I had taken a number of pregnancy tests; they were all negative. Still, it’s hard to ignore a symptom like not having your period for months. So one day I was grocery shopping with the two little guys in the giant Superstore cart, and I picked up yet another home pregnancy test. The most accurate home pregnancy test! the box claimed. I wrangled my kids into their five-point car seats, I started to drive home, and it hit me: what if I took the test and it was positive? What then? I would have to use the back row of the minivan. The kids would have to share a room. I would lose all remaining vestiges of my sanity. I already had a full double stroller, what would I do with a third child? I could barely get out of the house with two children, how would I manage with three? I had a complete panic attack and pulled the car over, put my head down on the steering wheel, and sobbed.
I got my period the next day. I also had validation that two was the perfect number for me.