Answer = Get new hair.

Since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve thought of practically nothing else. Which I guess is normal, given that I’ve never grown another human before. But it can be pretty consuming: nine months is a long time to entertain just the one thought.

I hadn’t been to a hair salon for about eight months, something that hasn’t happened since I’ve been working at Glamour – I’m usually in an out at least every other month, changing either the colour or the style completely. A couple of months ago I realised my growing-out bob had entered into the mid-length neverlands and my colour had gone from blonde to accidental ombre – so I booked in to Headmasters for a cut and colour. I took a photo in of myself from about four years ago (ideal if they could make it happen) and left with highlights and new bangs.

New herrr girl? Yes, thank you for noticing.

It was so nice to sit and make small talk and get my head massaged and hair done that I thought only of myself for the entire two hours. When I got back to the office I went into the loo and looked in the mirror and this happened (in my head. I don’t talk to the mirror):

‘Wow, my hair looks nice.’

*Glances down*

‘I’ve gotten a bit fat though.’


‘Oh yes, I’m pregnant.’

Mission accomplished. Lesson learnt: get your hair did, mums-to-be.  

Thank you Olly @ Headmasters. 

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