It’s finally happened. The kids are turning me grey 😫. I remember ‘proper’ adults telling me all through my teenage years and early twenties that they didn’t feel any different to when they were in their twenties. But their reflections were sometimes a shocking reminder that although they didn’t feel it, they definitely looked it! Well that’s beginning to sound a lot like how I feel right now.
Mr C very kindly pointed out that I appear to have some large areas of grey hair hiding beneath the surface (at least they’ve had the good grace to stay hidden under the top layer of hair). I’ll be honest, I hadn’t even noticed, but as I’m sure you can imagine my immediate response was;
“What?! Here, take my phone… no take my fucking phone, take a picture and show me. Where? Where? Where the f… Oh. Yeah, I see them… Shit man.”
Given that I took great pleasure in pointing out all of his distinguished follicles when they first made an appearance last year, its unsurprising that he thought the whole thing was bloody hilarious. I haven’t really given ageing much thought until now, but I’d always thought that I wouldn’t really care too much about going grey. I mean, it’s just a hair colour, right? And grey just happens to be quite the in thing at the moment too, so surely I should embrace those shiny bad boys. At least it’s not falling out anymore (seriously, if you haven’t already, don’t have kids) (only joking) (a little bit not joking, though).
But I don’t like the idea of going grey one little bit now that it’s happening. Maybe it’s because as I’ve got older and inevitably learned to accept myself and be comfortable in my skin, I don’t actually believe that I’m hideous anymore. That was a recurring theme of the formative years – “I’m hideous, little bit less hideous if I do that, still hideous though, especially in the morning”. If you’re hideous I guess it doesn’t really matter what colour your hair is.
These days, though, I’m much happier with who I am, and quite frankly I think if there were a physical line that you crossed and became hideous, I’m pretty comfortable sitting just the right side of it. I certainly don’t want ageing hair to tip me over that pissing line again. I didn’t like thinking I was hideous. It kind of felt a bit crappy.
So what do you do with the ageing
sailor mama, then? Well actually, I think you tell her to man the fuck up. It’s just some hair, and after those babies it’s survived quite a lot, so this is just another notch in the head of hair’s bedpost really isn’t it?! One more thing to conquer. Decide what you’re going to do and get on with it.
I might dye it, but then that comes with some serious conundrums. Do I go for a beautiful natural brown so that no one even realises anything has changed and I can stay young forever and I’ll always be revered for being the woman who never aged and my kids can sing me that weird song from Tangled while stroking my hair and… Alright, eventually someone might notice. Or, I could go for something proper out there, some beautifully bold and daring colour. I could have mermaid hair! I could go a bit blonde, I’ve kind of always fancied being a bit blonde.
The other option, of course, it to just let it do it’s old lady thing and go grey. Accept it, embrace it, rock it!