As a busy mom, I often find myself longing for some personal time. I used to fantasize about simple moments of solitude, even something as mundane as using the restroom without an audience. However, I’ve grown accustomed to my little companion accompanying me to the bathroom, and now, I’m not sure I can go without them.
It’s almost as if I have a personal assistant who caters to my every need: “Could you bring me the wipes, darling? And don’t forget the magazine!” While I appreciate the help, there’s one place I yearn to visit alone: the hair salon.
Let Me Explain Why
For just one day, I want to feel like Cinderella, transformed by my very own fairy glam-mother into a radiant princess, ready to enjoy a night out before returning to my everyday chaos. I crave that soothing scalp massage during an indulgent shampoo—something reminiscent of a scene from Fifty Shades of Grey. No interruptions from a little one splashing water on me or climbing on my lap, thank you very much.
I want to savor some quiet time as I finally get that much-needed cut and color. I can’t concentrate with a toddler bouncing on my knees, swinging sticky lollipops around. I want to enjoy the upbeat tunes playing in the salon rather than the repetitive “D-D-D-D-Dora” blaring from my phone—no offense to Dora, but right now, I’d rather hear, “Adios Amigos! Time to vamanos without your Mama.”
I want to admire my stylish ombre highlights and fabulous waves without the added weight of a tiny child perched on me. I don’t need a little narcissist stealing the spotlight—just a moment to appreciate my reflection and enjoy my own company.
I’d love to sip on glass after glass of complimentary wine, easing the guilt of spending two hundred bucks at a salon while keeping my husband in the dark about our finances. I don’t need a pint-sized critic snatching my drink and declaring, “Mommy can only have one glass of appy juice!”
I crave a pampering session free from the embarrassment of loud noises and nonsense words emanating from a little mimic who should be learning better manners. I want my mini-me to head home—text Daddy, call a cab, whatever it takes—because I’ve got some serious hair business to attend to.
Believe it or not, my stylist is like a BFF who always makes me feel great. She listens to my woes without judgment and transforms my frizz into fabulousness without a hint of Botox. Plus, she makes my mom-bun look like a runway hairstyle, giving me five days of confidence and a reason to strut my stuff.
So while I might love my family dearly, this afternoon is dedicated to self-care. I’m looking forward to chatting about life’s dramas with someone who genuinely cares—unlike the young ones at home who just don’t understand.
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In summary, I want a moment of tranquility and pampering at the hair salon—just me, my stylist, and a little bit of indulgence.