I have long hair. I get the temptation that might ignite to pull it. It is understandable. Can I really blame my baby for pulling the shit out of my hair every time it dangles in front of her face? No. It is kind of like wearing fuck-me pumps, a mini skirt, and a halter-top when walking by a construction site. Is it right that the guys whistle and make outrageous comments? No. Are you asking for it? In theory absolutely not! You should be able to dress however you want and not be harassed. But in practicality, it is to be expected?

So the feminist in me. The freedom fighter in me. The wanna be revolutionary in me says “I should be able to have long hair if I want! Why should I be oppressed by my baby’s tiny grip? I can’t allow her fist of fury to subjugate my personal liberty to maintain my personal preference of hair length!”

But this is the problem; you would think a baby isn’t a physical threat to a grown adult right? I mean it is a baby! A pint sized human that can’t always figure out the difference between her mouth and her cheek. I should be able to conquer this measly adversary. I am the one who knows how to swallow my own drool after all.

But yet, she prevails. Her little fingers of fury will outsmart me every time. Why don’t I just put my hair up you may ask? Well… I do. And do you know what this clandestine creature does? She wraps her coral colored arm around my neck, almost in a tender way, so I let my guard down, and then she grabs the most sensitive hairs right at the nape, and pulls with the vigor of Viagra.

Braids? Forget about it. Like two ropes for her to trapeze on. I have not found one hairstyle that will keep me safe from the torturous methods she must have learnt form the Chinese.

So one day, as she pulled my hair, I yelled “Ow! My hair!” Not that loud mind you… and it wasn’t even that passionate. It was just the first time I had ever yelled. And do you know how she reacted? Her little mouth transformed into the prefect upside town crescent moon, tears coated her sea colored eyes, and she cried a volcanic eruption of tears.

“Oh Dear!” I had to laugh and hug her. Within minutes she had calmed down, tugging away on the locks I lovingly sacrificed. Even though she was the one that hurt me, it hurt her more to know I was upset! So if the next time you see me I have a shaved head… just tell me it was a good move to bring back the Sinead O’Conner back.