My hair and I have an infamous long-standing feud: it wants to curl, and I prefer it straight. But every now and then I try to embrace my hair’s natural texture, with very little contentment.

Just to give you a little background: I have the type of natural curl that begins about 4-5 inches from my scalp; the front and top of my hair dries straight, and it gets curlier towards the bottom (moreso the longer it gets). So it looks like I am perpetually growing out a perm—and it’s not very pretty. The other big issue is that my hair takes FOR-EV-ER to dry. Just ask my stylist, who also happens to be my coworker. She dried the long, thick hair of two of our other coworkers—we’re talking twice as long and twice as thick as mine, these girls have tons of hair!—and it took her about 10-15 minutes each to blow dry their hair. But me? The one with much less hair? It took her TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES. And that doesn’t even include an extra ten minutes for straightening! “Oh my God, I’m actually SWEATING!” she exclaimed about halfway through. “How do you do this yourself?”

“I don’t,” I laughed. “Now you understand why I only do my hair once every other month or so!”

Blow drying and straightening it myself is a FORTY-FIVE MINUTE WORKOUT. I’m lazy, and with two kids I don’t usually have time for my hair anyway. So I decided to try something new: bamboo curlers.* They don’t use heat, so they’re not damaging to hair, and they’re soft enough that you can sleep in them overnight if you’re lazy like me and refuse to spend more than 30 seconds on your hair (to brush it and pull it back into a ponytail) in the morning. They’re also under $10, so they’re a fairly cheap experiment.

I know it goes against common sense to use curlers on hair that is naturally curly. But my hope was that they would give me more volume (since I just went through post-pregnancy hair loss) and a looser, more even curl pattern throughout my hair.

The arsenal:

1. John Frieda Health Boosting Detangling Spray (I’ve been using this for about 2 weeks, it’s not the best I’ve ever tried, but I HAVE to use a detangler on my fine, knot-prone hair. I want to try this next!)
2. Conair Bamboo Soft Curlers
3. John Frieda Frizz-Ease Secret Weapon Flawless Finishing Creme (Love this stuff! You use it AFTER your hair is dried, and just a tiny bit goes a long way. Makes it very shiny and smooth!)

The first time I tried the bamboo curlers, I divided my hair into six sections (top and bottom on each side, top and bottom in the back) and used one curler per section. I put them in my towel-dried hair after showering and slept in them overnight. But WHOA. I ended up with tight spirals up to my chin. Not the look I was going for!

This time, I tried them in the morning after showering and giving my hair a quick blast with the hair dryer for a couple minutes. I divided my hair into the same six sections, but I doubled up and used TWO curlers per section to make looser curls. Then I left them in about two hours while I went about my day. Of course, this is definitely not something you’d want to do if you actually needed to GO anywhere:

I took the curlers out while my hair was still a bit damp and let it finish air-drying, which worked MUCH better—the curls were a lot looser. (Sorry for the lack of makeup in all the pictures, but I can only handle one major project at a time, heh!)

Apparently I didn’t roll the back of my hair up high enough, because I still got that growing-out-a-perm look. Here is the back view (you can also see my new hair color better here, a reddish-brown with dark lowlights–which I love):

I added some of the John Frieda Secret Weapon and a headband, and the result was something that I *might* not be too embarrassed to take public:

In the end, I found the results… so-so. The curlers definitely gave me the volume I’d hoped for, but the overall effect wasn’t that much different from my natural curl. My hair in the photo above looks almost exactly like it does when I twist it up into a bun in the morning and then let it down later. Just for comparison’s sake, here is my hair air-dried today, front and back (and yes, my bangs dry straight on their own, which is crazy):

I think these bamboo curlers would produce nice results on hair that is a) longer and b) naturally straight. For me, though, there isn’t enough benefit to warrant using these on a regular basis (although the added volume was a nice perk). Maybe I’ll try hot rollers next. But until then, it’s back to blow drying… at least until they come up with a non-damaging, effortless, under-$10 way to straighten hair! Ha.

(Anyone want to try the curlers? I’ve only used them twice on clean hair. If you’re interested, let me know, and I’ll send them to you for free!) Already taken!

*For the record, I was in no way sponsored or compensated for this review. I bought the bamboo curlers on my own and my review is simply for entertainment purposes.

One year ago today, on a Monday evening after work, George and I learned what happens if super-fertile people are not careful on Cycle Day 9:

The only person I told about this was George, but I believed that if I made it to the following Monday without miscarrying, my pregnancy would be successful. So I prayed that Sunday night, only four and a half weeks along, begging God to please let me make it until the morning, to please let us keep this baby. I asked Him for a sign, and then immediately retracted, knowing that was unfair. I’m really afraid, but I will try to trust You.

The next morning on my way to work, I turned off our street onto the main road and was greeted by not one, but TWO rainbows: one to the south and one to the west. I thought of my prayers the night before. Coincidence? Sure. But it comforted me, nonetheless. When I got to the office my coworker J greeted me, “Did you see those two rainbows? Wasn’t that awesome?”

Who is to say that our questions to the sky aren’t sometimes answered?

Over the following nine months, my days were measured in paper squares and prayers. I thanked God every single morning that I woke up still pregnant, and my love grew stronger for the baby I was determined to keep. I will never forget how blessed I felt when I made it to a second trimester at last.

Excerpt from March 24, 2009: The ultrasound photos are hanging on the fridge, next to our family photo. I touch the hazy image every now and then, wondering at this brave little soul for taking up residence in a place with such a high turnover rate. It must be someone very extraordinary.

I was right.

It’s been a long, soul-stretching year since that fourth pair of pink lines, and I felt every single minute of it, but I’m so glad we ended up here. I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything, because I still think of those rainbows every time Andrew smiles… and he makes me believe.

I spent this evening with three of my coworkers, which was a lot more fun than it might sound because one of them is a hair stylist (haircuts, color, and awesome fancy products for cheap = SCORE!) and the other two are totally crazy (in a very lovable way). Me, I got out of the house and away from the kids for three hours, and THAT is pretty awesome too.

These girls are used to seeing me show up for work with eyes half closed and my hair in a soaking-wet-from-the-shower ponytail, so seeing me with my hair done prompted a hugely embarrassing Compliment Fest, ending with:

“Dude. You are HOTT. George is going to want to make another baby with you tonight.”

And of course, HA HA HA, I laughed. No way, we’re DONE!

I mean, are people KIDDING with this question? I’m still getting up in the middle of the night for a feeding. I’m still trying to lose the rest of the pregnancy weight. I’m still dealing with the tantrums of a willful three year old.

And yet… I wonder. ARE we done? Am I going to jinx us by saying that over and over? Will I feel so sure a year or two years from now? What if we get a “surprise” (as my mom reminded me that my younger brother was, when she was 36)?

I used to be a Super Planner about pregnancy, but after two miscarriages in 2008, I gave up thinking I had total control over my reproductive system. We planned to have baby #2 between April and October of 2009; I was due in April, then in August, and finally my Andrew came along… November 3, barely three days outside our planned “window.” I’m pretty sure Mother Nature had a chuckle about that.

So I’m a little hesitant to commit myself to saying I know anything 100% For Sure, because I don’t. I’m hesitant to believe there is zero chance of us having a third child, because I’m afraid (especially with our insane 3 out of 4 first-try batting average!) that would just be throwing a big old softball up there for Fate.

I’m pretty sure we won’t PLAN another pregnancy. I’ve been pregnant four times in the past five years, miscarrying twice and giving birth to two beautiful boys. And really, it’s enough. I’m happy with two children. I’m afraid of pregnancy. I’m TIRED.

But deep down, I’m a tiny bit uncertain. Something keeps nagging me, What if you’re not finished and you just don’t know it? I can’t make that feeling go away no matter how hard I try. It’s there, despite the exhaustion, despite the frustration, despite every good reason for Stopping Here.

And to be honest, there is also my history (G4P2A2) which makes me feel like… well, sort of like I got gypped. So yes, I sometimes feel a fierce physiological urge to prove my body can sustain another pregnancy and produce another little miracle.

All of that is not to say I WANT to be pregnant again, because I DON’T. I hate pregnancy, truly hate it, and I say that as someone who almost never uses the h-word. I hate worrying that I won’t make it past 5 weeks or 9 weeks. Even if I want a third child someday, the idea of actually going through a FIFTH pregnancy will probably be enough to make me reconsider.

When I say I’m done having kids, I really do mean it. I just don’t know if nature, or God, intends more for me. I’m only 31; I’m only human, and I’m not willing to make any bets.

If we ever should find ourselves expecting again, I’m sure George and I would be thrilled (as long as it’s not within the next year! lol). I don’t foresee it, and in my current state of perpetual exhaustion I honestly can’t IMAGINE it. The only thing we know for certain is that we are already immensely blessed and, right now, we’re perfectly happy with the family we’ve got.

You may have read my Tweet today about being so tired that I started mumbling threats to the coffee maker, when really, the reason it wasn’t brewing my daily pot of Black Liquid Hope* was because—oh. I forgot to add water.

I’m exhausted. All the time. And as much as I love my Roo, I’d really love to start seeing less of him between 8pm and 6am. Less meaning NOT AT ALL.

“I thought he’d be sleeping through the night by now,” George sighed last Sunday. “When did Oliver start?”

“Oliver was 8 weeks old,” I reminded him. Seeing him mentally calculate the time difference for Andrew, I just laughed. “Yeah. That would have been SIX WEEKS AGO.”

I was Sleep Spoiled—Sleep Spoiled ROTTEN—with my first baby, but I didn’t truly appreciate it until now. Oliver started consistently sleeping through the night at only 8 weeks old. I’m not talking 4-, 5-, or 6- hour stretches—I’m talking a solid TWELVE HOURS of uninterrupted sleep. Every. Single. Night. But I only bragged about it a little, because I knew I was probably in for payback with a second child someday.

And… yeah.

Andrew is 15 weeks old now and is still waking up a couple times per night, usually once or twice when he needs soothing and again between 4-5am for a feeding. He’s had a couple recent stretches to 6am, but not without waking up and crying (i.e. dragging me out of bed) at least once.

George says this is a trade-off and Andrew will be an easy 3-year old. HA!

I say (because I’m the one getting up in the night), it’s a good thing this kid is so cute.

Losing sleep is MUCH tougher the second time around because 1) (and this is the obvious one) caring for two kids is more physically and emotionally demanding than caring for just one; 2) Oliver alone wears me out simply because he is in the Terrible Threes with no sign of losing the attitude any time soon; 3) it’s hard to let Andrew cry for more than 2 seconds in an effort to let him learn to soothe himself when I don’t want him to wake up Oliver during his nap or in the middle of the night; and 4) I’m four years older now and my body doesn’t handle sleep deprivation as well (seriously, there is a big difference between 27 and 31 in that way, at least for me). I also started back to work two days a week already, whereas I didn’t work for a year while Oliver was a baby.

What’s worse is that lately I’m in a horrible adrenaline-fueled survival mode, drinking coffee to keep me awake in the morning, but having difficulty getting my brain and my body to wind down at night. I’ve been staying awake past midnight, 1am, 2am. It’s hard to go to sleep at night and then it’s even harder to get up in the morning. I never feel rested, and it’s taking a toll on everything, from how my body constantly aches to how I don’t feel like laughing as much with my kids. The solution is simple: I need more sleep.

It just so happens that Lent begins today, and since I’m already on a diet, my challenge this year is going to be an earlier bedtime. And this truly IS a challenge for me because despite being perpetually exhausted, I’m still a night owl by nature, so forcing myself to cut my night activities short (catching up on cleaning or laundry, reading books or blogs, playing with pictures, etc) goes against my body clock. I think a 10:30 bedtime is realistic though, and that would buy me at least an extra 1-2 hours more sleep than I’m getting now.

Here’s hoping tonight begins 40 nights of more sleep, followed by 40 days of more smiles and more sanity… and maybe even less coffee.

*And if you know which show that quote is from, I love you almost as much as I love sleep.

A lot of people are writing about tonight’s episode of Lost for other reasons, but what stuck with me (and George) was the part where Claire is in the hospital for early labor… and the fetal heart rate monitor shows a flat line. The doctor performs an ultrasound and finds that her baby has simply moved.

It reminded me of what I try to forget: That happened during my labor with Andrew. And not because he moved.

I didn’t include it in his birth story, I guess because it’s still scary to remember. One practice push, and suddenly, Andrew’s heart rate dropped. From one hundred thirty-something beats per minute down, down, down to zero. I stared at the screen in confusion as the machine’s alarm beeped; I could hardly breathe. The nurse immediately reached for his head and started rubbing his tiny scalp. “Come on, baby,” she said, “come on…”

A couple seconds later, the return of blips on the monitor: his heart rate shot up quickly back to normal. I glanced over at George, who was as pale as I must have been. He gripped my hand tightly.

My OB burst into the room along with the resident. She was not her usual smiling self, not even looking at me as she asked the nurse with concern, “What was THAT?” They had seen the baby’s heart rate stop registering on the monitors at the nurse’s station.

“I guess he didn’t like that push,” the nurse said uncertainly.

My OB and the resident had me wait a few minutes and then push once, gently, while they watched the monitor. Andrew’s heart rate remained steady. I was afraid; I wanted it to be over, I wanted him safely out.

Thankfully, I only had to push a few more times before he was born. And he was perfectly okay.

It’s so delicate, life.

How lucky we are.