I don't have a new pic to upload of my hair from the back, so this will have to work (note Daniel's ponytail - mine is marginally longer). It's growing, alright. My dad - who still offers me Cokes with every meal even though I gave them up for my New Year's Resolution in 1997 - asked me today if I was growing out my hair. If my poor, unobservant daddy noticed, it must be growing.
It's also starting to drive me a little (read - a LOT) crazy. It's touching me. It makes my neck sweat at night. I don't like it. My child dislikes the hair drier so I spend most days with it either in a ponytail or just looking like I rolled out of bed and did nothing with it. But I keep reminding myself of the annoying things cancer patients must deal with. Nausea. Shunts jabbed into their arms. Fatigue. Pain. Funny looks from people in public places. I keep reminding myself that my little ponytail is much preferable to a bald head and missing eyebrows. I keep reminding myself that this is supposed to be a selfless act and therefore my discomfort should not be a factor.
I swore that I wouldn't measure it again until Valentine's Day of 2011. I won't, but I did schedule my first trim since November. I plan on asking my stylist how much she thinks it's grown and how much longer she thinks I have to grow. I'm not interested in hard numbers for another 10 months. Although I won't have any numbers to share next month, at least I'll have a picture of pretty, styled hair to share. That should be nice - not just the photo, but the hour to myself in a salon with grown-ups. Always a nice treat!
Until then. . .
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