The LA and No. 1 Daughter have been out socialising for much of the day, while I've been at home. I was supposed to have been writing, since I'm currently working on a piece which has a chance of earning actual money, but I've not had enough uninterrupted time all day, because I've been working through a backlog of laundry. Burp cloths and towels, adult clothes, baby clothes, and now sheets. It seems like every time I've sat down, a laundry machine has beeped at me again.
In other news, I've been feeling distinctly cold of neck recently, since I decided that the baby's habit of firmly grasping a lock of my hair and wrenching my head around was beginning to do nasty things to my neck. So the LA and I repaired to a haircut place, and as it turned out I had just enough hair and in good enough condition that it could be donated to an organisation which makes wigs for children suffering hair loss. Once that was done, some cleanup was in order, and my hair is now shorter than it's been since sometime in 2002. In the years of being long, it's apparently been trained towards the back, and so the short top sort of fluffs upwards away from my forehead - thus avoiding one of the things I disliked about my short hair in years past. My hair becomes greasy fast, and it would fall onto my forehead, clogging pores and resulting in volcanic acne. The cut I have now is very much a low-maintenance affair; every couple of months, I'll need to go back and have it cut again, but other than that I just need to shower regularly and it's good. I can even choose whether or not I want to comb it; it's too short to tangle. So my daughter has accomplished what her great-grandmother never could; she's persuaded me to get my hair cut.