This is a picture heavy post. Looooong overdue.
On another note, Petals’s screaming for food or diaper changes has got to go. I’ve been trying signing to her – milk, more, food, daddy, mama, finished – but the only ones that she has picked up are the standard “Hello” and “Good-bye”…and she knows how to reach up to picked up…and she knows how to clap her hands in celebration. (Interestingly enough, she also knows how to hold out one hand to play patty-cake. We didn’t teach her that one.) I’m contemplating buying books or baby DVDs, but I have no idea which one would be the most helpful.
Right now I have Baby Signing Time songs stuck in my head. Perhaps this is a sign.
And on a COMPLETELY unrelated note…
My hair looked awesome the other day. I wanted to share.
So…I figured it was about time for some photo updates – because I hadn’t put them on here in a while. If this is going to be a super-awesome compilation of reflective information about my pregnancy, I think I should have some super-cute pictures of my tumms to show off.
1. I dyed my locs! I’ve never had my hair dyed before – and I decided, after months of thinking about it – to get some sort of streaking done. I settled on bright red. And, I was super excited because the place that I went to not only dyed, styled, and super moisturized locs (and other forms of natural hair) BUT they also offered spa services…like prenatal massage. So. I spoiled myself. Pics and such behind the cut…
It’s time for the requisite birthday reflection, the time when I go through all the stuff that’s happened in the past year and realize that, in general, life has been pretty good for me. This has been the first year that things have been relatively stable. For the past six years, at least, there’s been something new – drastically new – in my life. And because I happen to be a summer baby, whose life revolves around a school calendar, my age usually begins with whatever big change is about to happen.
At 20, I got my first apartment. 21, I began dating The Boy. 22, we moved in together. Right before I was 23, he proposed. I graduated from grad school and got a new job four hours away from my home. To celebrate, I shaved off all my hair. At 24, I’d just gotten married and had moved back to my home town and was starting a new job. At 25 we were celebrating our first year together – I got dreads (which I recently put into a hairstyle…my very first time putting them into a style other than pigtails or half ponies…that I did all by meself!)
And now…I’m 26.
And other than trying out new hairstyles, which I think I like btw – you can judge for yoursel’…
The past year has been refreshingly stable.
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Last year, I declared my freedom from torturing my hair – freedom from feeling less than because of my Creator-given kinks instead of holding them up with pride. It took a long time before I felt like my own hair was as glorious as that Paul spoke of…and even now, I occasionally catch myself trying to fight against my hair instead of, as I vowed, working with it.
And it’s been an interesting year. I’ve learned a lot about my own hair since my locs’ humble beginnings as comb coils. They’ve grown, they’ve unraveled, they’ve twisted and turned. They’ve separated and been combined…and it has been quite a journey.