i.e. a baby

So i had it, the baby.

I had it at home again. I know, i know, hippy blah dangerous blah foolhardy blah etc.

But i did it, so, there it is, done. It was an interesting labour. I had the baby on the 4th of June, and all day the 3rd of June i had on-off light contractions which never really got much closer or more painful. Eventually (about 11pm) they started to ramp up, but they stayed totally irregular all night so i never got to being "in labour" really. All night we slept in 10minute snatches between contractions. At 6am my dad arrived (yes, i had my DAD there, gasp, faint in shock etc, that my father saw my vagina (which he had seen before since he used to wipe it clean for me when I was the baby) but please also know that he got to witness the first moments of his fresh new grandchild with us, and he made us cracking bacon sandwiches afterwards) and then i got in the bath for a change of scenery. Towards 7am i decided, given i was grunting at the peaks of my still-sporadic contractions, that i wanted my midwife.

She came, then about half an hour later the baby came. I had it on the bedroom floor. I pushed for only 6 minutes. I was on all-fours and i reached back and caught the head and then her body and lifted this new little person to my belly myself. The midwife stayed peaceful and attentive and helped me when i couldn't find the armpit (most babies turn to deliver their shoulders but mine don't!) but didn't steam in with assistance i didn't need. I turned it over to see which flavour we got, and it was a girl. We called her Camille. She had a true knot in her cord. This is probably why she didn't have a "normal" pattern of labour. For those out there who think we were incredibly lucky not to have a dead baby having a true-knot kid at home, her apgars were 10, 10 and 10. I don't doubt many a baby is saved by hospital intervention, but i suspect mine would have been in quite a lot of trouble if, at 2am when i was dilating but still not having regular contractions, someone augmented me with pitocin to "normalise" my labour and coincidentally pulled her knot tight for her. The only true knot baby i know who died died of that.

She is 3.5weeks old now, and she loves, in order of preference:

breasts (mine, though i'm sure it is cupboard love)

cuddling

going to sleep in the wrap

when daddy holds her to his chest and hums to her

sleeping

her big sister playing with her toes

She does not like:

hiccups (which she has a lot, possibly a hangover from her cord issue)

the breasts being put away when she isn't actually choked to the gills with milk

any time in the evenings spent conscious but without a breast in her mouth or unconscious but without a breast smooshed against her face

We love her a LOT.

It's a joy having a second baby. I still demand feed, co-sleep, baby-wear, respond instantly to crying and generally enforce no routine except one of frequent, emphatic kisses and loves showered upon her, but i feel so much less defensive about it all this time. When anyone doubts me, questions me or tells me i'm making a rod for my back if i don't leave her to cry/force her into a routine/make her sleep in the cot/put her down sometimes, i just smile, point to my (absolutely SMASHING) 4 year old and say "it didn't do her any harm".

i.e. returns

Well, i'm not dead. I have never been even nearly dead! I've just been thinking, also moving house 3 times, getting knocked up 3 times, losing 2 of the pregnancies (do the maths, it's ultimately happy news) and you know, living.

Why am i here? Well, because i know i should be, because i know i should be writing, and because i'm 6weeks (give or take) from having another baby and if i don't form a routine now i never will. Also i am super-grumpy and this is probably a nicer place to vent that than at the unfortunate man on the bus who was silly enough to light a cigarette near me...

Last time i had a baby i had an NHS homebirth. At the time it was fabulous. Without the fog of endorphins the lucky among us get after birth, it was...ok. When G and i decided to try for a baby we discussed the options. My main concerns were that i have a thyroid condition which was missed during my first pregnancy (putting myself and Esme at some increased risk) which would need to be managed carefully during future pregnancies, i met with 6 midwives during my first pregnancy and still, a total stranger turned up to catch the baby when i was actually in labour, and i felt that total stranger was fearful and distracted, and clearly we didn't know one another which, i believe, significantly affected how she managed my labour and birth.

My general feeling is that the NHS is full of midwives who are wonderful, caring, skilled women, who want to do a job they felt called to. And the vast majority spend their time tied up with guidelines-turned-laws, paperwork concerned with avoiding litigation and protocols concerned with the same. The result is a bunch of stressed out, burned out, dissatisfied women who are forced to try to support women under the constraints of a system whose first concern is not them, nor the women and babies they care for, but the money it costs to do so. Recently in Glasgow there have been huge cuts in the numbers of midwife posts, many of which have been replaced by "maternity healthcare assistants" - people who are not autonomous and have no decision-making powers when it comes to apt treatment. People, therefore, who will be far more likely to toe the party line (and therefore better protect the contents of the NHS coffers) regardless of what is in the best interests of the baby and the mother. I do not consider it safe or wise, especially as someone who laboured and birthed relatively quickly last time, to put myself or my baby or our care in their hands.

So we had a hunt around, and turned up an Independent Midwife, a rare find believe me, since she is one of a dying breed, called Allison Ewing. Our initial contact was through email where she was reassuring and open. Before we had even booked with her she had supported me through two losses, and sent me a lot of valuable information on other aspects of birthing (which would have been especially relevant if we HAD decided to go the NHS route afterall).

We subsequently booked with her and she's been caring for us AND being paid for it (very modestly given the level of care she gives) since last November. She's a breath of fresh air, and i am SO glad we found her. Down-to-earth, good-humoured and a sci-fi fan to boot! I feel very calm, healthy and lucky, and i'm genuinely looking forward to birth knowing it will be her who will be walking through our front door when i go into labour.

So that's where i've been and what's on my mind. I now have to put my big 4year old girl to bed, but visit again soon, there will be more.

i.e. Mama

I know, it's been 6 months, but what can i say...? I moved house, G and I have been smashing our lives together and buying rugs. It's been long enough that you now all have to suffer a self-indulgent ramble about my opinion on parenting - a part of my life that i am NEVER short of a few words on.

I am a hippy mother.

It is a default, not something i decided. Other people label the box don't they? As a parent you just decide where your various techniques and not-to-be-crossed lines are, and then other people with other techniques and lines rock up and go "oh you're such-and-such" and then either criticise you or wander off in search of another learning experience to ignore.

I am a hippy mother not because of wearing big skirts and beads and never washing my hair (because i don't, don't often and do) but because there seems to be no category of "mainstream" parenting which allows one to have a homebirth, breastfeed, babywear (that's putting bubs in a sling or wrap on your chest, tummy or back, rather than into the more usual car-seat/pram/bouncer option), use cloth nappies (what does that have to do with parenting!?), respond to crying and not smack. I am a hippy mother because it is the only way people seem to be able to reconcile the fact that i do not want to ignore or hit ANYONE i love.

The strangest thing about this, especially when i'm among other women, is the number of people who take my choices as a direct aggressive challenge. Barmy chats i have had:

Woman at toddler group: This formula is leaking again! What brand of bottle did you use?
Me: I breastfed, so i didn't use many. Avent i think, once i pumped milk.
Woman: (loudly) I TRIED to breastfeed but i didn't have any milk.
Me: (half-listening) Oh.
Woman: and she's 3 months old now and she's NEVER been ill. When did you little girl first get ill?
Me: (watching my daughter eat play dough and wondering how toxic it will be) Um, oh 7 months, seriously a week after i'd had to stop breastfeeding. Probably just to make me feel bad...(laughing a bit)
Woman: (angrily) Well, i think it's a lot of crap. My husband feeds her, how could you bond if you didn't feed?!
Me: Yeah, my ex bathed her and played with her, and later on i pumped milk and he fed her that...so...they're bonded ok. I think it just depends on the family..
Woman: (as she stands up) Yeah well, it's all very well if you want a baby hanging off you all day - I wanted my LIFE back! (she then stormed off, though not very effectively because the only other empty seat was about 4 feet from the one she'd just vacated).

Once the ex and i were walking down the street, our then 3 month old daughter was in a wrap snuggled against his chest, and because it was sunny and she was asleep the outer layer of (thin, breathable) fabric was tucked right over her as per manufacturers instructions. A random woman stormed up and SHOUTED at us "Yeah that's a great fucking way to smother your baby! Well done!" and stormed off.

I have been told if i don't FORCE her to sit screaming and crying with distress on the loo she'll "never learn" (whatever that means), that if i don't smack her she'll "grow up to be a murderer!", if i don't stop her thumb-sucking it'll ruin her life (still suck mine aged 28, life pretty much intact and no, i never needed orthodontic work), that by picking her up when at 13 days old she cried in obvious pain (was her tummy) i was "letting her manipulate me", that by letting her get into my bed to sleep when she's scared i'll "make a rod for my own back". I could go on and on and on.

So here it is. I had a homebirth because i am shit-scared of hospitals. I breastfed because it is faff-free (no washing/sterilising/mixing), danger-free (no worrying that on 90minutes of sleep in the last 36 hours i'll have fucked up the washing/sterilising/mixing in some way) and financially free. I stopped because i had a medical condition that dried my milk up, not because she was getting "too big" "too old" or "too demanding". I used a wrap, then a backpack, then (and now) a meitai to carry my kid because a) i like the cuddling and b) i cannot steer a buggy well, shop aisles are too narrow for them, buses can only take 2 and there's always 2 already on the bus you need to catch and c) for me, it's less hassle throwing her in a wrap or onto my back than packing up a buggy, carrying it down 3 flights of stairs (presumably while DD lay alone in the flat) then abandoning it while i go and get her. I used cloth nappies because they are cheaper than disposable unless you have an outside agent clean them and i didn't. I respond to her crying because i love her. I don't ignore friends or my partner or my family when they cry and they are in the main FAR less helpless than a newborn, a toddler, or a young child. Why would i ignore her? I have never read ANY evidence that it does anything positive for either of us. Yeah, i might get more sleep in theory when she gives up crying but it's possible the knowledge that i just taught my newborn baby "cry all you like, no-one gives a flying fuck how you're feeling, least of all me, your mother, the only person in the world you thought you could actually rely on" might keep me awake somewhat. I love her, i don't care if she knows it! The same goes for smacking. I don't want to hit someone i love, nor teach my child that someone who loves them can or should hit them. I know, i know, some people think children and grown-ups are very distinct from one another, but i don't buy it. Inability to articulate pain, frustration, hurt, is not the same as inability to FEEL those things. I don't speak Japanese, but if you put me in Japan and hit me i'll be feeling EXACTLY what i'd feel in Scotland in the same situation, i just won't be able to express it.

I am not a crazy liberal mother, i'm a strict one! Just because you can't think of anything to do but hit a kid doesn't mean in the absence of hitting i do nothing when she misbehaves. I am creative! If she kicks the back of my seat in the car she gets 2 warnings to stop and the 3rd time i put my seat right back so it is firmly against her legs and she cannot move, let alone kick. It doesn't hurt, it just takes away the freedom she had and couldn't be trusted with. After a few minutes i shift it back, she does not resume kicking. If she does something crazy in the house i send her to sit on the stairs alone. If you cannot act like a member of the family and respect the house and the people in it you don't get to BE with the family. After a few minutes, during which she reflects or moans loudly or both and i consider why she is acting as she is (tired, hungry, thirsty, bored?) and then we re-convene for an explanation from me, an apology from her and a hug all round. Then we forget it and move on and if i DID identify a problem i could alleviate i do so.

This is how i raise my kid, and before you get all up-in-arms some bit of it you disagree with, i do not GIVE a shit how you are raising yours.

i.e. Gold

I went to see Goldfrapp last night at Glasgow's Royal Concert Hall.

We were three, G and J and me. M forgot and went on holiday...

We looked at the gig memorabilia first. They had t-shirts, hoodies, colouring pencils, drawing books, badges, tote bags, tea towels... The artwork was....um....i want to be kind and say "home made" but if i do, please know that i mean "home made by a toddler". I'm sure the concept took real effort, but i'm not sure the execution got the same time and attention... Of course i thought that at the time and the SECOND i left thought "Those stag-head motif t-shirts were actually really nice..." LOL.

The fans are an eclectic bunch. I looked around the bar before the gig and wondered if everyone here was REALLY here to see Alison. There were old couples, young hip things, geeks and nerds, the uber-trendy, the ultra-scruffy, suits, kids, you name it. Although i didn't actually see any pets, except the stuffed ones on stage.

The support act were called The Fryers. There were 3 young things, an intense-looking (but skilled) male drummer, a slender and hip-looking female keyboard player (complete with 70's long-fringed bowl-bob haircut) and a frizzy haired front man. The front was, to be fair, a simpering fool. He gushed at us between tracks about how grateful he was that we were there rather than at home watching Andy Murray (as if!), began every track by mumbling the track title into the mic and ended every track by barking "thanks" into it. Their levels were all over the place (maybe they didn't have much time to sound-check), a lot of his lyrics were yelped at us rather than sung, and most of their tracks were so verbose it was like listening to essays to music. Their sound was a strange mix of 80's pop and reggae. Despite all that, a few things stood out, though unfortunately the only track title i can is "olive eyes" which was a bit mediocre. Catchy though...

After the support the lights went up on the (still half-empty) room and i went out to refresh our Pepsi's. When i got back G and J were deep in conversation and i realised that the interval music was the soundtrack of Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man. This did tie in with the stage set which included stags antlers atop a colourfully ribboned maypole, stuffed (or possibly fake) owls and crows, woven wicker panels on the back wall, and deep loops of multi-coloured bunting and large-bulb rope lights. G had never seen the film, but since i had, it did heighten the tension, especially when i heard, just for a second, Edward Woodward's final scream of "Oh God!" and the crackling of flames...

The room filled up, the lights went down. The band came on. The theme continued - the girls were both in long white floaty robes with pompoms on long cords, the boys in white shirts and pale trousers. So far so folk. Alison came on. She was wearing a pink robe which stopped shortly after her legs started. There was plenty of fabric - when she raised her arms it swept from her forearms to her thighs in one elegant curve each side, forming iconic wings - it just didn't cover much of her slender legs. She was bare-legged and barefoot. At first appeared she was in that very short smock, only later, when throwing her hands into the air, did she reveal matching and very short shorts beneath the robe. The girls hair was loose but secured back from the forehead, Alison's was a foaming crown of fizzy curls, standing out like a halo. So, from the depraved sex-kitten i last saw (in October 2005) had arisen folk-angel. She had on less make-up than i'm used to seeing her in. I realised that despite all the poster and pictures and videos and gigs (ok, only 2 of them) i still don't REALLY know what she looks like. She doesn't look her age anyway, that's for sure.

I can't list the set, and i've got no desire to. They played a lot of very good music. When she sang Utopia the hairs on the back of my neck stood in some kind of micro-ovation for her beautiful, eerie, ethereal voice. When they played Train and Strict Machine the whole room stood to dance. When they played Happiness i could hear most of the row behind me singing along, and i joined them. They played my favourite from Seventh Tree (Little Bird) and G's (Eat Yourself). Her voice is sublime and her songs NEVER seem to get tired. I must have run uphill for about 30miles total to Train and yet my hear still beats faster to hear it.

There were some sound problems, a few patches of feedback and excessive volume from the electric violin, which Alison addressed with a determined shake of the head and a graceful arm gesture. The lights were spectacular as usual, and there was some heavy strobing on some tracks, particularly Strict Machine (which was also accompanied by a video of a pneumatic ram rising and falling with the bass - filthy) of the sort which always makes me mildly concerned i'm about to find out who is epileptic and that it might be me.

Alison looked small on stage. Her bare legs and feet gave her a child-like quality, despite her obviously grown-up curves, backlit through the fabric of her smock. She's 42 this year and she looked about 23 from where we were (row M).

They played two tracks as an encore, which was fortunate because one of them was Eat Yourself and G was waiting to hear it. Overall it was a really great gig.

It was however, somewhat marred by the witless fucknut sitting directly in front of G and his female companion, sitting in front of me. He was wearing an Orbital tour 2004 t-shirt and had lank shoulder-length hair, which he regularly oiled with agitated sweeps of his palms. Perhaps he is reading this and recognises himself. If so, this is for you, Orbital man:

You are not the conductor. Goldfrapp is perfectly capable of playing without your angry arm waving. They do not require your opinion on their timing and you thinking it's time for a big musical moment isn't relevant to anyone but you. I for instance, do not give a fuck if you think they started Strict Machine too slow and i'm sure your karate-chop-on-closed-fist hand gestures, even if they saw them, were as baffling to them as your choice in haircut is to me. You whistled between and then DURING every track, sometimes for 30 or more seconds continuously. You might be on the Live CD now. Which means you've fucked the gig up for another 10,000 fans. Well done. You stood up through slower tracks when the rest of the room was seated, obscuring our view with your stone-washed, straight-fit, probably-bought-in-1982-when-you-last-changed-your-hairstyle, denims. The woman you were with; she is also not the huge fan she thinks herself, since she thought the middle of the gig was a pertinent time to make a phonecall. You wandered off and came back, maybe you were off to do a line, maybe it was time for the meds you take to stop you being a dick (they aren't working), either way, it was fucking RUDE. During the pause to find the right guitar levels for a requested encore you shouted "in your own time!" as if you are some sort of comedic genuis instead of an ungrateful, greasy little twat with low self-esteem and a desperate need for recognition for something, anything from those around you. Every time i crossed or uncrossed my legs i wanted to kick you hard in the back of your oily thatch. When the lights for Strict Machine flared and strobed i seriously considered grabbing a handful of your greasy locks and then faking a particularly violent fit. When the lights went up a guy from the row behind tapped G on the shoulder and said "I'd have punched him". I wish i fucking had. Luckily i was commenting without reserve on what a fuckwit you are when we were standing at the Memorabilia stand while G had a ponder. As i finished a particularly vicious outburst re: your "admirable" whistling and "hilarious" commentary, i turned around and there you both were, not three yards away. I hope you heard me nice and clearly. I was blonde and wearing a grey-print top and blue jeans. If we're ever at a gig together in the future you'd better pray you see me first so you can stay Out. Of. My. Fucking. Way.

i.e. Deloitte & Touche

When i was 23 i had the misfortune of working for Deloitte and Touche (though actually they had just dropped the Touche). It was three days, as a temp, on their phone switchboard and general reception which was in the penthouse of the office building on Glasgow's George Square.

Overall i hated it. The other receptionist, whose name escapes me, was actually very friendly and nice, but my contract coincided with her buying and having delivered a brand new merc, which was all she talked about. I don't mind cars but there's only so much one can say/hear about someone else's car before one begins to nod off... Also she was terribly excited to get a bouquet of flowers and "congratulations" card delivered from Mercedes with the car - hello, you spent £28k! Flowers cost like £20! Talk about easily excited...

Anyway it was incredibly sterile. £300 worth of flowers were delivered twice every week by some contemporary floral arrangement company, everything was made of marble and slate, and the desk had a high back so no one but those behind it could see such visual affronts as computers and paperclips.

The reason i REALLY hated it was the people who i had to deal with. My job was to answer incoming calls and direct them. If a call came in for someone who wasn't available i was to divert the call to that person's voicemail. I'd not used that specific switchboard software before but it wasn't rocket science - you typed in the name and hit enter!

Well i started at 9.15am on a Wednesday, to do 3 days. The previous temp had moved on to another job and the "real" receptionist she had been covering had a broken leg and was due out of plaster that weekend.

At 10.03 the phone rang and since the other receptionist had gone into the empty boardroom to call, i presume, from the hushed tones and giggling and the fact that she switched immediately to Urdu whenever i was in earshot (i could vaguely hear English words when she was farther away), her boyfriend, i answered it. "Good morning, Deloitte?" i said. A short silence and then an incredibly plummy woman's voice replied abruptly "Frehd Holdswerth."

I typed holdswerth into the system. Nothing happened. "I'm terribly sorry," i said, "could you possibly spell that for me?". There was a longish silence and then the voice replied, "You're joking." More silence, i frantically altered my spelling but it made no difference. I tried again, "i'm terribly sorry, could you spell it?".

"What!?" yelled the voice, "Don't yew knehw who Frehd Holdswerth is!? Don't yew knehw who ay am!? Put me threhw to Mr Holdswerth IMMEDIATELY!" i continued to frantically alter my spelling but it made no difference. So i tried again, "I really AM," i said "terribly sorry, but i'm, obviously misspelling the name as the system is giving me nothing.".

There was a lot of tutting, heaving of great sighs, under-breath mutterings, on the other end of the line. "Are yew tehlling me, ME, that yew don't know who Fred Holdsworth is!?" demanded the voice.
"I'm so sorry" i stuttered.
"WHO are we employing these days!?" continued the voice.
"I know, i'm so sorry" i replied timidly, "if you could just spell the name..." By now i was actually close to tears! The situation was ridiculous!
Another loud exasperated tut and then, finally, mercy "H-A-L-L-S-W-O-R-T-H!".
"Thankyou," i whispered, and transferred the call.

Now sadly i cannot remember this woman's name, though for a long time i could (it was 4 years ago now). I'm sure it was Ann-marie something. Or possibly Eileen something. If i COULD remember it i would actually email or maybe even phone her to tell her what a complete cunt she is.

I wish i hadn't maintained, or attempted to, a professional phone manner. I wish i'd said "You know what sugar, i've worked for your miserable company for 48 minutes and so far i'm not impressed. Also as shocking as it might be, i am just one of the many millions of people in the world who have never heard of you or Fred Hallsworth and do not give a flying fuck who either of you are. How often do you think a 23 year old TEMP accesses services like those provided by Deloitte? Now spell the fucking name you self-important bitch, so we can end this pathetic exchange."

But i didn't.

The only sad thing is that it is Fred Hallsworth's name i remember in relation to this, and he, based on the few times he had the misfortune of getting me when he used the switchboard, was a patient, good-humoured, kind man.

i.e. Modern Youth

Just a quick one. Yesterday The child and her father and i went to the local park so she could run about. While there i overheard the following exchange between boys who looked somewhere between 9 and 11 years old.

Boy 1: ah've goat this stone look, an ma maw sez ah can take it hame wi me. Am gonnae make a spear! This is for ma spear!
Boy 2: (not interested) oh right.
Boy 3: what it is?
Boy 1: it's fer ma spear! Maw sez ah can take it hame!
Boy 3: You'll be the bad guy when you've made that spear.
Boy 1: (running towards boy 3 in mock attack) Yaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
Boy 2: (running away) Oh no! You're Hitler! You're Hitler!
Boy 1: (chasing and yelling) Ah'm HITLERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR, an' ah'll get yeez!!!

What are they actually teaching kids in primary school about Hitler that he can be equated in young minds with a spear-head-weilding maniac? I laughed for a long time.

i.e. Trevor Sorbie I ain't

So, i cut my own hair last week...

Christina, if you are reading this i'm sorry. Christina is my hairdresser. She has been cutting my hair for a long time, since i was 15 in fact. Over a decade! Actually no one else but Thomas Civita has cut my hair SINCE i was 15. Christina is basically an expert, especially when it comes to my head and hair, so even going to Thomas (which i have done twice, once in 1999 and once in 2006) feels painful to me. But Christina is in Perthshire (Little Hair Company, Back Street, Bridge of Earn, 01738 815888) and i am a busy single mum in Glasgow so laziness takes over and, well, i cut my own hair.

It's not the first time i've done it. I first did it just before Christmas. My hair was terrible back then. Here's a photo of it looking as good as it got...

Please disregard the cigar. I was just holding it for a friend. And it was all Niall's fault anyway.

Well it was a bunch of lengths as you can see. I had had it trimmed by Thomas in August 2006 because after having a baby and my Thyroid failing a lot of it fell out and the regrowth looked, well, ridiculous. But by December 2007 what i had was a lot of long thin growth and a lot of short curls (the pic above is from October) and it basically looked straggly and crap.

So i cut it. It didn't look totally terrible, luckily because of my hair type, but i made very basic errors. My intention had been to cut layers into it to break up the look of 2 lengths with one growing through the other, but the reality is that there is no easy way of doing that to yourself (all that "put it in a ponytail on your crown and cut the top off" nonsense is just that - on thick strong LONG hair it looks crap, on anyone else the hair police are going to be carrying you off before you've put your scissors down...).

So i divided it into sections from my crown down and cut them progressively longer as i went down. I also hacked a good bit into the front to give my face some framing as the length at the front was dragging my face down.

The results, if i washed it and let it dry naturally with it's forgiving natural wave, was a long slightly severe but not too terrible layered look. If i blow dried it and used the straighteners, it looked like someone had cut a staircase into it. Really, that bad. So i KNEW i'd need to do something about it (i.e. get it cut by Christina) but since it looked ok if i didn't straighten it, and i hardly ever do anyway because i am a lazy jones when it comes to haircare, i left it the way it was. Sadly (or happily) there are no photos of it from that period though i did live with it for 3 months.

Then i got sick of it once again. I knew what i wanted, a cut Christina did on me back in late '02 when she was heavily pregnant. On the shoulder, layered but not drastically so, great straight or curly, still went into a ponytail (NOT about to try running a 10k with my hair down) and was generally low care. Somehow finding the time to get to see her either without the kid (so i COULD sit down for an hour without having to leap up and prevent hairdryer/scissors/hairspray/knife accidents every 2 seconds) or with both the kid and a handy kid-watcher (i.e. G) wasn't happening. Eventually, with my defences against self-cutting lowered due to the not-SO-terrible results the last time, i got sick of it, sharpened some household scissors carefully with a diamond stone, and cut it myself.

First i tried to cut a layer in the internet DIY way - wash it, tip your head upside down, comb it so it is all hanging straight and cut across in a straight line. This means the hair on the top of your head is cut to the distance you cut from your head, and the hair at the nape of your neck is cut to that length plus the distance from your crown to your nape. So i did that. It worked (the technique) and i stood up and looked at the results. It was then that Christina's words of once-upon-an-appointment came back. They were "your hair is too thin/fine to support a long layer". On me it just looks straggly, the thickness of my hair (not much) means that the longest layers are pathetically sparse and weird-looking.

Well there i was with the scissors in my hand and my hair all wet and ready to cut and so i did what they tell you all over the web and everywhere else you should never do. I took a deep breath and just began to cut. I removed the hair which fell lower than just below my collarbones. With my natural curl that hair sits just above my shoulder when dry, and onto the shoulder when straightened. Once i'd cut the longer under-layers off i set to work trying to shape my hair.

I lifted hair out from my head a small section at a time and cut straight down (something i'd seen Christina do when shaping my haircuts in the past). This (ideally) means the hair is a little more layered and the ends fall less bluntly. The main problem with that is that it is very very hard to do accurately to your own head. But i tried. Once i'd finished i pulled sections from opposite areas of my head (above each ear, at neck on each side, both temples etc.) forward to check the cut was more or less symmetrical, another handy trick from Christina. Then i dried it, straightened it and neatened the results up with more scissor action (something i'd failed to do last time).

The results? This is it after the dreaded straighteners, revealers of crap technique...

I'm not going to win any awards with it and i'm sure any hairdresser worth their salt would roll on the floor laughing if they ran their fingers through it, but it isn't so terrible that i regret doing it. It's a MASSIVE improvement on the last cut and things can only get better as i practice (which will take ages since i only do it once every 3 months or so). I now own ACTUAL (cheap nasty) hair scissors, which shall not be used for other household tasks, which can only help. I'll blog a pic of it natural/curly later on, when i've had time to wash my hair and take one.