A Perfect Mistake

Chapter 23

"So, you want your hair cut to the bottom of your neck and you want it styled in a wavy perm, right?" The hairdresser, Lola, confirms.

"Yes," I say firmly.

I'm seated in a black leather chair raised up with a white cloth hanging underneath my chin. I stare at myself in the mirror.

I watch the hairdresser wash and condition my hair. After it's washed and conditioned, I watch her blow dry my hair. After it's fully dried, she runs a comb through my hair several times until it looks neat and not messy. After it's combed, the hairdresser holds out a pair scissors and starts to chop off my hair strand by strand.

"Whoa," I mutter to myself when my hair is cut all the way to my neck. 

Lola smiles. "It looks so pretty."

"Now you're gonna do a wavy perm, right?"

"Yep."

I watch Lola slowly perm my hair and the result of the perm isn't puffy curly but wavy.

I smile at my new hairdo. I look great!

"Thanks, Lola!" I say gratefully and gleefully.

I take off the cloth, jump out of the chair, pay her $40, and I'm finally out of the hair salon.

The day before my 3-month anniversary with Mitchell (which is on Friday, November 18), I make a rash decision: I should cut my hair short and style it differently.

I liked my previous hair okay, but I always thought it could be better. Today is the day I decide to change my hair for the better.

After leaving the hair salon, I shop at Target and find a pretty, simple dress: it's a solid navy blue color, it's made out of sweater material, and it reaches to just below my knees. I find a pair of white tights to go along with the dress. Lastly, I find a pair of black, shiny Mary Jane high heel pumps.

I buy all of those things, which cost a measly $60.

"So, how do I look?" I ask, making a bold entrance in my bedroom.

Mitchell looks at me, impressed.

"Hot," Mitchell says, smirking.

I giggle. I thank him with a kiss and a statement of: "Thanks, babe."

"I can't wait for our date tomorrow night," Mitchell admits.

"Same," I admit.

We gaze at each other for what seems forever, though it's actually about 2 minutes.

I hear Lorraine cry from the nursery.

"I'll get her!" I claim.

I head to the nursery, which is right next door to my bedroom.

I see precious little Lorraine crying in her crib.

"Hey there, precious," I say in a sing-song, soft voice.

She stops crying when she sees me. I guess she just wanted Mommy.

I pick her up and sniff her bottom. Whew. She really put off a stink bomb, that's for sure!

I change her diaper. 

Maternal instinct tells me that she is hungry and needs milk.

Listening to my maternal instinct, I carry her and walk down to the kitchen.

I prepare a warm, yummy-looking bottle of milk.

"Here you go, darling," I say, still stuck in a sing-song and soft mode.

Lorraine sucks on the nipple. The milk drains out of the bottle into her mouth down her throat.

She loves warm milk. She often drinks 4 or 5 bottles everyday.

After she finishes up drinking her milk, she starts to get sleepy.

As I rock her back and forth, I go upstairs back to the nursery and set her down carefully in the crib.

I sing her a lullaby:

Lullaby, and good night, in the skies stars are bright.

May the moon's silvery beams bring you sweet dreams.

Close your eyes now and rest, may these hours be blessed.

'Til the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn.

Lullaby, and good night, you are mother's delight.

I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.

Sleepyhead, close your eyes, for I'm right beside you.

Guardian angels are near, so sleep without fear.

Lullaby, and good night, with roses bedight.

Lilies o'er head, lay thee down in thy bed.

When the lullaby ends, Lorraine falls asleep.

I smile at her. Before leaving the nursery, I kiss her on her forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my loved one," I whisper to her.

Mom is standing by the doorway.

"You're such a great mother," Mom tells me, smiling with pride.

"Really, you think so?" I say, flattered but surprised.

I never thought of whether I'm a good or bad mother.

"Yes. Of course I do. You take care of her very well, and there's been very few times you've asked me to babysit her, which proves that you're independent. Lorraine is in very good hands, Cassie." Mom smiles.

I smile. "Thanks, Mom."

I suppose that I am really a good mother especially for my age...