As I was brushing my hair this morning, something shiny and reflective caught my eye from amongst my curls. I leaned in toward the mirror to get a better look at the foreign object. There, sure enough, trying to blend in with my brunette waves as if it belonged was my first gray hair.
Damn.
I've been told for years that kids are the cause of these things, fairly certain I personally have created an untold number of them in my parents' heads, but for some reason I thought these things would come along later. Like when Hayden starts learning to ride a bike. Or I find her 15 feet up a tree. Or when she starts driving. Not now, though. Not when my biggest worry is whether she pulls the blanket over her face during her nap, or topples over when she tries to sit up. Or that she'll catch a cold.
I just wasn't quite ready for this yet. Like so many things though, I think the anticipation and worry is worse than the thing itself. Now I've got one under my belt, I'm good. Bring 'em on, Father Time! I can swing it... (of course, no need to bring them too fast, though, you hear? Save some for the first time I catch her sneaking out at night - that'll be good fodder for some salt and pepper, no?
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