Sometimes I find myself rebelling against the stereotypical 'mom' look. I've always said it'd be a cold day in hell before I drove a minivan. I try my absolute best not to wear jogging pants out to the grocery store (alright, you caught me, it was just that one time two weeks ago, I swear!). I'm not quite ready for the one-foot-in-the-retirement-home-look quite yet. Sadly, I'm still trying to cling to the punk rock look I tortured my parents with in high school, which is incredibly hard to pull off when you work in an office environment. I've been spotted wearing skull earrings to work. I once streaked my hair with purple highlights and hoped no one would notice. I know at some point this is going to have to end and I'll have to come to terms with my lame-ness. I pray my family and friends will stop me before I'm that 45 year old mom with pink hair and thigh-high boots at the rock concert trying to blend in. We've all seen THAT mom – it isn't a pretty sight.

I've always had very long hair, ever since I was a young child. I swore I would never cut it above the middle of my back. I would never succumb to the 'mom' cut. You know the one, where you trade your gorgeous locks for short, manageable, low maintenance and unfortunately low-style hair. I managed to keep that promise through my older son Corbin's early years and even Rowan's newborn phase. But at 9 months Rowan has become a fantastic hair-puller. It’s gotten so bad that I figured I had two options; duct tape his hands to his sides or give in and cut my hair. So for the first time in my life, I have incredibly short hair. My lovely hair dresser lopped off nearly 9 inches, which we donated to Locks of Love. While I'm glad it's gone to a good place, I'm really missing those inches, and maybe mourning a little bit of my lost youth. After all, I'm now sporting official Mom Hair. What's next, the minivan? I shudder to think.

When I got home from the salon I picked up Rowan to see what he thought of the new look. He looked back and forth between my face and my hair-free shoulders a few seconds before grabbing my nose and gleefully wrenching it with all his might. Yay motherhood.