It grows, it grows

This is me, enjoying the last few moments of my long hair, before I cut it all off a few weeks back. Thirteen inches. Thirteen inches of motherhood: I had been growing out my hair since I gave birth to Caleb.

I loved my long hair. I've always been a long hair kind of girl, but I almost always cut my hair when I'm crazy with grief or just plain crazy. Which means I've had short hair quite a few times haha. And I almost always regret it. This time has been no exception.

I bet you are wondering what my hair looks like now. Well, so am I. I am waiting to be able to see it for what it truly is, even to perhaps see it through the eyes of people who tell me it looks fabulous and sexy. Maybe then I'll take pictures of it and post one. But for now, it looks kind of dumb and pointless to me, and very occassionally, I catch myself sort of liking it for about 17 seconds. Which is the way I feel about most things these days.

Sigh. I keep shrugging and saying, "Hair grows..."

I cut it because a. I'm really sad because I really, really wanted a daughter, and it looks like that may never happen and b. I decided to donate it to an organization that makes wigs exclusively for children. I want a little girl who has lost her hair to feel beautiful in mine. Whenever I think of this, I smile with a lump in my throat, and my eyes start to sting with tears. And this makes me happy.

As I sat in the waiting area of the salon, it hit me like a ton of bricks, this realization: I am giving away my whole head of hair to a little girl because apparently fate has decided I won't be giving my whole heart to a little girl. My beloved hair suddenly seemed like a sad substitute for love. But it had to do, because it was all I had to give.

My hairdresser, in a moment of sheer brilliance, took me in a back room, closed the door, and let me cut off each braid myself. With a blade of loss at my throat, cutting through the braids felt for a moment like a release. It felt like a secret, sacred ceremony. I cried as I marveled how the silky, limp braids felt like umbilical cords in my hands. My tears sprinkled the chestnut cords like a baptism.

People keep asking me if I'll ever grow my hair back. People. I do not know. I am so sad right now, I barely even know what we're having for dinner most days. All I know is that it grows, it grows. It grows when I'm mourning it; It grows when I'm not even thinking about it. It grows when I'm sleeping, the way my babies did, tucked away inside my womb.

I imagine every part of me is like that, just growing, in spite of myself, in spite of getting cut back, in spite of it all. Or maybe, just maybe, because of it all.