The Day after Christmas.

The day after Christmas, I woke up and nursed Oliver. Then, something wonderful happened. Josh said he was going to take Oliver downstairs so that I could sleep a little more. And I slept for two hours.

I had a late breakfast--crazy square pancakes--and then went for my first walk since Oliver was born. We put him in the stroller, and Josh; Mom; Shane; Shane's pup, Lana; and I went out in the crisp air of the neighborhood. The walk was hard. My hips, which had started to quiet their constant howling, ached, and my legs didn't seem to know themselves. My throat also constricted, no longer used to that kind of breathing (outside of the experience that makes Josh and I afraid of deep breathing). But I was thinking, This is my first walk. 

When we got back to the house, Mom and I got ready. I wore the Tinkerbell shirt I'd bought recently at the Disney Store in my new city (yes, we have a mall. And it's not the kind of mall that has a Dollar Tree). I'd bought it because it was cute and because Josh had mentioned that I should try to get more in touch with my whimsical side again. I wore my jeans, which I'm still grateful every day to be able to wear.

Mama had been waiting to take me to a magical land called Versona. My Christmas earrings, necklace, and headbands had come from there. We had barely gotten inside the door, and already, I wanted to fill a basket. The store has color sections--pink jewelry, scarves, shoes, and clutches are together and so on with purple, turquoise, green, black, silver, red.... Mom and I worked our way through the colors, trying not to miss anything, sometimes parting and sometimes spotting each other. I tried on a ruffled coat I didn't need and a cafe au lait crinkly dress I couldn't afford. I commanded my mother to buy the striking gray top that made her look like an Art Deco goddess.

My basket held a pair of deep green rhinestone bracelets; tights in moss and plum; a multi-layered bracelet in pink, purple, and green with flowers and ribbons; understated but queenly purple rhinestone earrings; and a necklace that is a tumble of metallic navy and cut clear beads. I would space these bright bits out through the coming work weeks.

Josh has always had a thing for Dana Scully. He never said anything, but I had a thought. I was planning to dye my hair anyway (post-pregnancy), probably black. I mentioned my idea to Mom, and she said, "Every woman has to go red at least once." My grandmother, my mother's mother, had auburn hair. I have pale skin and green eyes. It could work.

We went to the drugstore and stared at so many boxes, faces, and fancy color names. We picked two that were the same brand and looked like the same color, but one was a dollar more. Mom said, "Whatever is making this a dollar more, I'd go ahead and pay the dollar."

We went to coffee and the bookstore where I worked for six months after I finished my MFA and before I began teaching.

At the house, Josh was holding a sleeping Oliver. Mom and I closed off the master bathroom, which is partly carpeted and a pretty good hang out spot. We manage to play beauty shop every year or two. She's always the beautician, though. I can barely put my hair in a ponytail when it's long enough.

She opened the box and said, "Well, everything has a gold label. I think that's what your dollar paid for." When we had to go to the kitchen sink for a rinse-out, we kept the towel over my hair so that Josh wouldn't see. My hair didn't look red to me, but Mom said, "Ooh. It's going to be red-red."
"How do you mean?"
"Like Jessica Rabbit."
I could live with that.

Like me, if my mom starts something, she usually has to go all out. She dried, curled, teased, and Big Sexy Hair-sprayed my hair. She threw in some lip gloss and a concealer touch-up. I still couldn't see it, so Mom handed me a mirror and told me to stand under an overhead light. Whoa.

During the big reveal, Josh was fairly subdued, admiring and pleased, but he's almost always that way. I didn't really see that he understood I'd made my hair a present to him until he took pictures of me...and kept taking them. I told him that at least until the dye faded, I'd be his Scully.