I love my hair. For the most part. I've never colored it. Only permed it once. I get it cut regularly every 6-8 weeks. I've always been told how pretty my hair is. I take vitamins so it will grow and be healthy. Ok, they are the rest of the pre-natal vitamins I took when pregnant last summer. No, I am not pregnant nor do I want to be. Just taking the vitamins.
(Glad we cleared that up.)
About once every 5 years, I get a big haircut, like inches. Many inches. A month after I got married, chopped. A few months after Big Sister was born, chopped. And now.
It's never been long enough to donate. Well, it might have been after I got married but I was such a chicken and wouldn't let my stylist make just 1 big cut.
I guess since I'm much older and more mature (stop laughing), I felt I could handle it.
So at age 32, I made the appointment of my life. I've known so many people affected by cancer who have lost their hair and been forced to wear a wig. So I decided I would do it on honor of them. And my mother in law.
So, Tuesday, June 19th at noon, I went to get my hair cut.
It was slightly overwhelming at first because it was over in less than a minute. Luckily, a really sweet lady that has known my family for years (and me!) was getting hers cut in the next chair. She gave lots of praise!
After all was said and done, I was happy. Pleased with my new (and much cooler and lighter) 'do! I mailed the packet off the next day with such a great sense of pride!