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Lady GodivaYou know you are in trouble when your husband asks if you think you might like to brush your hair.  I am not sure exactly when it happened, when I stopped obsessing over every morning showers and conditioned hair.  I am sure having a baby and being woken up by a nursing monster every few hours for um…2 years has something to do with it.  I realized pretty quickly when you have to choose between brushing your teeth or brushing your hair…you go with the teeth.

I’ve been blessed with good hair.  Frankly, I think it looks better when I ignore it.  My hair has a life of its own.  Ra regularly asks me if I need a trim because my hair smothers him in the night.  He has woken up gasping for air, neck engulfed by long red hair.  Sounds sexy to me but he doesn’t agree.  I don’t think he cared so much when we first got together.  When fits of passion are a daily occurrence.  Now he’s getting a little set in his ways and bothered by the little things.  I don’t want a Porphyria situation over here in Brooklyn so I have tentatively agreed to somewhat regular trims.

The point is, my hair is wild and my husband wants to tame it.  I think he can’t help it.  On some level he knows how powerful a woman’s hair can be.  Its a tool of seduction, it makes us feel powerful.  Jeesh, it can also make us cry.

So now that we are cozy married with our wee little one, my hair should fall in line, right?

Wrong.

Maybe it’s my connection to being free or perhaps I am just lazy.  I’m not going to tame the hair.  Wild is beautiful and I smile when Ra hands me my morning coffee and says “here you go lioness.”

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