Meltdown

I often mention William's little meltdowns. They're a pretty common occurrence, given that he's just about 12 weeks old. They're to be expected when he gets overtired or hungry. His little pink lower lip trembles, then he pokes it out as far as he can. His face turns tomato red. His forehead wrinkles, and he arches his back. He begins to cry. "Mmmmwwaaaaah!" Then it escalates. If we're in public, people smile at first. Then they begin to look concerned--then alarmed. You half expect the lights to flicker off and on and the floors to shake.

But I'm 31. I'm not supposed to have meltdowns, right? I'm the Mommy. I'm supposed to be calm, cool and collected, ready with a binky or a clean diaper. I'm supposed to be in charge. Nothing should ruffle me. Right?

Ha. Just when I'm thinking that I'm doing so well, something happens, and I just temporarily lose it.

Today's adult meltdown was brought to you courtesy of a lack of sleep and a less-than-desirable haircut. I was looking a little shaggy, so Mom took me to get my hair cut at her local salon. Unfortunately, the appointment was at 8 a.m., and I'd been awake most of the minutes between 5:30 and 8 a.m., dealing with a baby who was alternately hungry and fussy. I arrived at the salon in shaky condition. So I don't know exactly where the breakdown in communication happened, but somehow my hair ended up a lot shorter than I really anticipated. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, the tears began to well up, and I began to sob, right there in the salon chair, the brown plastic robe still draped around my shoulders. I'd always said that I would never ever get a Mom haircut, and suddenly, I was looking at myself with a haircut that was, if not a Mom haircut, at least an Aunt haircut. And not the cool aunt with the trendy clothes, the iPod and the convertible, either. No, I resembled the aunt who takes her two young children to the park to play soccer on Saturday mornings while she sips Starbucks and chats on her cell phone.

I was just so, so tired, and now my long hair was gone, too. (It's still about shoulder length, so I guess it could be worse.) I missed my husband. I was stressed out from worrying about the massive wildfires blazing out of control a few dozen miles from my home in California. It was too much for a woman who hadn't even had a Diet Coke yet that morning.

So the tears fell. Meanwhile, William took a cue from his mama and sobbed on his grandma's shoulder in the waiting area. I emerged from the working part of the salon and cried some more. I took William from Mom, and we cried together.

A woman I don't even know came over to take the baby from me. She put him up against her shoulder and began to murmur to him, walking around the salon and soothing him. All of sudden, various women are telling me that it's just not easy to be a new mama, and that it'll be okay. The first woman came back over to me, handed the baby to my mom, and then hugged me.

I feel a little silly, having cried in public. I'll fully admit to having cried over a bad haircut in the past, but certainly not in the salon itself. But I just felt so overwhelmed. When I'm tired, the little things that would never ordinarily trip me up just loom so large. My hair will grow. I can wear a hat. The haircut really is not that bad. But when a hungry baby wakes you up every few hours, just as you're in the midst of a REM sleep cycle....well, it takes its toll after awhile. Even if the baby in question is a darling little guy with big navy eyes and chubby little pink cheeks.

The stylist graciously allowed me to come back to the salon later this afternoon, and she trimmed things up. I look better. I feel a little better. I'm still tired, but I guess I'm still in one piece. I guess it's okay to have a bad moment every one in awhile. I hope the next one comes when I'm not in public, though.