Happy Tears

Jon shaved my head last night, and I shaved his. We were laughing hysterically, in tears over the haircut Jon first gave me, and then I gave him. I looked like a rat. He looked like Kurt Cobain. Jon looks hot. He says I look sexy. We're not bald, just super short. I will, however, be bald someday soon. This will make it easier, and I won't be leaving a trail of hair everywhere I go.

Today I'm wearing my wig for the first time. I was feeling good about it, until my sister told me the tag was hanging out in the back. Awesome.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

I've been losing lots of weight ever since NJ was born, which will have been a year on December 9. My how things can change in just one year. That alone is humbling, and yet, invigorating. Lesson: Don't get in a frenzy over future planning.

I had been holding out on buying any new, smaller clothes, hoping rather that I was going to actually have a butt again someday. But, I have not been feeling very cute lately, and it's time to get my mojo back.

First, I went to J.Crew. For one thing, I'm not too keen on the skinny, "minnie," cropped trend. I'm short = not a good idea to cut off the little legs that I have above the ankle. The only more "traditional" (I never thought I'd use this word to describe myself, ever.) bootcut jeans they have don't come in my size. Seriously, they don't make them small enough. I really am shrinking. What the hell? I do, however, know where they have teeny jeans, and I haven't been there in, like, 10 years. Dear lord, don't make me say it. Abercrombie.

I looked on the mall directory for the store. I couldn't even find it. I was looking in the "Women's Apparel" section, because I'm a woman, and I'm looking for clothes, for women. But, Abercrombie is in the "Teen's Apparel" section, which is why I couldn't freakin find it. But, guess what, I got fabulous jeans there, in a size 00 mind you. The only problem is that I cannot get the smell of that damn perfume out of my hair – finally, an upside to balding. Anyway, my butt is back, and so is my mojo.

Premature Balding

I think of Bald and I think of George Costanza. I am a vain person. I'll be the first to admit it. My hair is seriously falling out now, and I'm going to be way balder than George could ever be. My "happydom" has come to an end, momentarily. This was something I knew I couldn't prepare for. How can you, really?

I almost cried about it today when Jon asked me how I was doing. It hit me that it's just a matter of time now. My sad little ponytail is about half the thickness it normally would be. It's weird. I will be bald and have no choice in the matter. Oh dear. I don't like this one bit. It's the only outward sign of me being sick. That makes me uncomfortable. It's that more than the hair, maybe. Sick – I hate that word, and I don't feel sick. I need an alternate and am ridding it from my vocabulary. Under the weather? That's better.

Next week I will have to go to work for the first time wearing a wig. I told Jon I hope no one notices. I haven't really told anyone at work other than my a few people, and I don't plan on it at this point. I mean, who really wants to make a big deal about it? Not me. At some point, I might just tell the right person and let it makes it way. I'm undecided. I think two days and counting. I'll be like a hairless cat before the weekend is done.

I tried "Lola" on tonight. I think I like her, kinda better than my own hair.

Retail Therapy vs. Chemotherapy

I'm a sucker for pretty, feminine, special blouses. This one is from Rebecca Taylor, who also designed my favorite-dress-ever that I wore at my wedding rehearsal dinner. My favorite dress besides my wedding dress, of course. Isn't it lovely? I think I'll wear it to NJ's birthday party, and it will look nice with my new wig. I should get some lip gloss to go with it. It was half off, AND, a whopping 50% goes directly to the Triple Negative Breast Cancer Foundation. Sold. I'll take retail therapy over chemotherapy any day.

One thing that's cool about getting cancer is that I don't feel guilt anymore. I used to be plagued with it at times. Guilty for buying something too expensive, guilty for being too cheap, guilty for saying the wrong thing, or for not being nice enough, or for being a bitch, or not working hard enough, or not being sweet enough to my handsome hubby or blah blah blah.

I'm finished with it. However, it was not a conscious choice. It was a switch that turned off more than anything. Just a magic switch.

It's kind of awesome. (Honey, if you're reading this, don't you like it? I think you should buy something for yourself too. wink wink. love you.)

Heartbreak and Hangups

My one moment of desperation so far was on the second night after I found out. I cried so hard when we were in bed. Me, Jon, NJ – she sleeps with us. I know, I know: "You'll never get her out of your bed...You're really in for it now...Your marriage will suffer...She needs more independence..." I've heard it all, trust me. But, the truth is, I love that she snuggles with us in bed all night long. And, Jon does too. I don't think it will last forever. In fact, I know it won't. And, I'm going to savor it for all its worth. I burst into tears this particular night, humbled by the sweetness of it all. Our bedtime routine. Our happiness. The thought that it could possibly end was wrenching. I sobbed and professed all of my fears to Jon. It breaks my own heart to think of it now. Me, in a moment of sheer desperation. Clutching on to my sweet baby for dear life. I think she was laughing, smiling, giggling. I love that she can go on being happy no matter what. She's happy just that we're there, with her.

That night was a turning point for me. Jon confessed that he feared many of the same things, and that made me feel comforted.

I learned this simple lesson in a few short weeks: When you voice your fears, they dissipate.  Maybe I'd even heard this before, or been told that it was the answer, but didn't listen. Now it's so clear.

This morning I felt that fearlessness again. I was driving to work, listening to The Court Yard Hounds – The Dixie Chicks with no dixie, or, sans Natalie Maines – and was thinking about some things I wanted to write about today. Somehow I said to myself for the first time that I really am a writer, even a good writer, and that I'm not doubting myself anymore. It was like my chest swung open and angels flew in. I got goosebumps. I felt like a vice was lifted. Once and for all. A lifetime of hangups disappeared in an instant. Just like that.

The Problem With Hair

I think my hair is falling out. I was kind of thinking, hoping that maybe I would be the exception to the rule. But, this morning, it was happening. It was kind of like serious shedding, which happened for a few months after having NJ. But, this is different. It was more even, and I thought it was a lot before. My glorious long brown locks. This is something I can't quite come to terms with in advance, and started to really feel nervous about. Like, butterflies. I've always had long hair. Forever, except for once in 5th grade and once when I first went off to college in Knoxville. Never again, until now. I worry what NJ will think more than anyone. Will she recognize me? Will she cry? I really hope it doesn't scare her. She doesn't even like it when I wear hats. She's totally going to rip my wig off. I hope not in public.

Jon is excited. I'm glad someone is. This is the wig I ordered from Senorita at the wig store.

It's not in yet. It better get here, pronto.

Marbles Are Better Than Golf Balls

My tumor is shrinking. Seriously, melting. I say things to it some days like, "Get the f out of my body. You are so done for." Or, "I hate you, and you are not welcome here." There's variations, and I must admit: some are more perverse than you might imagine. But, I really think it's working. I do so enjoy dirty curse words, and I'm happy to say they're coming in handy, at last.