It's been a month since I had my hair backcombed into dreads. I'm getting pretty used to the hairstyle, even though I usually refer to it as "my hair" instead of "my dreads" out of deference to people who've actually been doing this for some time. I have an easy out right now. When I throw it back in a ponytail it just looks like a messy curly ponytail. So I'm not like 100% counter-culture. All I need is a scrunchi and the other suburban moms think I'm one of them.
This actually marks a new phase in the dread development. At the beginning I couldn't pull my hair back and have it look normal because it was too puffy. As the dreads have started to contract and dread up a bit it's much different. The footprint (er, headprint?) is much smaller. So for the time being I can go to church with my hair back in a ponytail and not worry that the people I pray for will be afraid of contracting bedbugs. I mean, any more than usual.
I've been washing my hair once a week with dreadlock shampoo. Baking soda and apple cider vinegar work equally well, but my mom bought me the dreadlock shampoo for my birthday and it's a bit easier to deal with just because it already lives in the shower. I don't have to get all undressed and then run downstairs because I forgot a cup of vinegar. And then the baby starts screaming because he caught a glimpse of my boobs.
I mean, screaming in hunger. Because he remembers he wants to nurse. Not because the sight of my boobs are an abomination.
My hair, not so abomination-y either. At least in my own opinion. Which (until y'all figure out how to put in your email address to post a comment) is the only one that matters.