The Dreaded Growing-Out

You’d think, considering how often I chop off all my hair, that I’d be an expert at the whole growing-out thing by now. You’d think that I’d have more tools in my hairstyling arsenal than hats and despair.

Trust me, this is as good as it was going to get.
Trust me, this is as good as it was going to get.

I loved, loved, loved the extensions I got for Mother’s Day, but they’re long gone now and I’m left with…well, this:

In the absence of an on-call hairstylist, I did what any girl in my situation would do: trolled Pinterest for ideas about how to grow out a pixie cut without wanting to jam scissors into my eye.

Pinterest had many good ideas, most of which seemed to presuppose that the natural disposition of one’s hair was somewhat more tractable than mine. I did notice a couple of themes in all the growing-out posts: curling irons are our friends, and the hair over one’s ears is not.

Ignore the dire face.
Ignore the dire face. It’s just my face.

So I curled. Yes, I curled. Then I got bored of curling and busted out the scissors instead. I trimmed my sideburns and the horrible tufts over my ears, and thinned out my bangs a little. And the result is…pretty good, I think!

I’m much happier with it and may actually go outside without a hat sometime in the nearish future. Possibly. Especially now that Rory unraveled my favorite hat.

Here is an animated gif to memorialize the transition. You’re welcome.

If this GIF does not play it's because of science or something.
If this GIF does not play it’s because of science or something. Also the cleavage is not deliberate; I’m a nursing mama and boy does it show. ::clutches pearls::