Baby Bangs

Dear baby bangs,

I hate you.

(Disclaimer:  this is NOT in reference to the blog, Baby Bangs, which I actually love. And stalk read religiously.  And maybe perhaps daydream about being friends with Amanda, Beth Moore's daughter.  Who probably hates being referred to as "Beth Moore's daughter." )

So, what was I saying?  Oh yes.  Baby bangs, you're awful.  Why do you insist upon torturing new moms with random hairs that stick STRAIGHT OUT of our heads?  Like, at a 45-degree angle?  Right where our hair parts....I mean, that's just unnecessary. 

And for that matter, why are you still sticking around sixteen months after I had a baby?!?!  I mean, a few months, I can deal with.  No one feels pretty right after having a baby (and if you do, there may be something wrong with you, and we cannot be friends).   What's one more thing? I mean, add it to the hemorrhoids, cankles, and spare tire around the middle.  I can take it.

But it's been a year and a half!  PLEASE.  GO AWAY. 

My flatiron can't even tame you, and at 400 degrees of straightening power, that's really saying something.

(And maybe I should examine why I think it's okay to burn my hair at 400 degrees on the regular.)

(And while I'm at it, I should examine why I think it's okay to say things like "on the regular." I'm not Usher.  Or Justin Bieber.)

So, while I appreciate you trying to keep me humble by making me look crazy all the time, I do not need your help.  I promise. 

I've got more than enough crazy to go around.