I went and got myself an adorable little bob last night. Feels much better a little shorter. Is this blog worthy information? No, not really. No one in their right mind gives a rat's ass about how short my bob is.
While in the chair my stylist, I know that sounds pretentious but that is what they call themselves these days, Hilary, kindly asked about the girls. Completely normal get your hair trimmed small talk. I explained that Ava's hair is getting so much more thick recently and I am having a hard time combing it out each morning. I lick and pat while pulling the comb through, she whines, it's a right of passage if you ask me. I went around 1980-1983 with a french braid pulled so tight from my mother's skilled hand I ironically sported some Asian looking almond shaped eyes. That and a headache from hair follicles pulled to the breaking point. Hilary suggested some super yummy expensive leave in conditioner and I countered that my mother had some of that stuff at her house but it was $4.00 from Pantene. Hilary explained that Pantene was all wax, the curse of wax would NOT touch her perfectly coiffed head. Ok, well Ava is five, I'm on a budget so she can deal with a little wax if you ask me.
Other ladies in the shop started to comment on their hair and hair history, their mother's hair, their aunt's hair and it's thickness and curliness and straightness and when it changed in life, when it went gray, when it thinned, and when their sister got that God awful perm. On and on. I was completely struck and oddly saddened by the fact that I know not one bit of hair history for my girls. I have no idea if Livi's hair will darken or thicken. I have no clue if Ava's hair will continue to show these amazing almost blue streaks from trending to a black satin sheet. She has no aunt that I know of to peek into the future for this bit of information.
On the way home I couldn't help but think this was not my conversation to have at the shop. Ava's birthmother should have been there. She most likely would know exactly how to care for her ever thickening and darkening hair. She would know because her sister or mother probably had that same hair. She would have already known that her family's more adult hair would come in at around age 5 and the thinner finer toddler hair would begin to change.
Driving home, I had this odd conversation in my head with her birthmother. I was explaining the situation with the tight rattiness in the mornings and she was nodding while laughing a bit saying that oh yes her Aunt Ling had that same issue in grade school so her mother used xyz on it and it became this silky gorgeous mane. I nodded sheepishly at her and pulled gently at my straight blond processed highlights silently apologizing. She casually waved her hand at me, knowing I wouldn't have the slightest idea.
Then I approached a red light. I was completely caught up in how strange this imaginary conversation with Ava's birthmother really was. I couldn't decide whether I simply needed to get out more or if perhaps I really was sort of having a conversation with her birthmother. Esoteric and elusive as it was.
In the end I suppose it is just one of those adoption things. It doesn't really matter what happens with the strands on their lovely little heads. Perhaps it was just one mother's wish to belong, to be close and intimate in a way only family can.