I remember my first gray hair. I was at the end of my pregnancy with Lucian and I went to get my hair cut for the last time before I gave birth. I’ll never forget when the hairdresser offered to pluck out a gray hair for me. I couldn’t believe it. I had just turned 26 and hadn’t even noticed because frankly, I just wasn’t looking.
I thought it was a fluke. A random thing that happened and I didn’t think much about it.
Flash forward four years. I am now 30 and discovering gray hairs.
And not just a single gray hair.
Several of them.
When I had to say goodbye to my twenties it wasn’t that big of a deal. Since most of my friends and my husband are older than me, it was just that much easier to turn 30. I was still younger than all of them. It would be the 40th birthday that was tougher for me I figured.
But what I wasn’t expecting were these blasted little hairs. Hairs that are actually quite long and obviously went unnoticed for a while.
Why? Because I still wasn’t looking for them.
They are unexpected.
A reminder that I am no longer in my youth. That while I may not be middle aged, I’m no longer young.
I either have to pluck them out one by one or recognize that instead of coloring my hair for the sole purpose of a new look, I need to color it to cover up the gray.
The idea of that is so much harder than the act of turning 30.