No more looking like a star for me

When I was younger, it was great. I liked looking older then. One time my cousin Kim and I went to a restaurant and were waiting for a table at the bar. The bartender asked me if I wanted a drink, but said nothing to Kim. I was 18, and Kim was 22. And, no, I didn't get a drink that night.

I blame most of it on the fact that I am prematurely gray. I found the first one, or should I say a classmate found the first one, when I was just 13.

The obnoxious kid sitting behind me in science class yelled, "Oh my God, you have gray hair," at the top of his lungs, letting me and the rest of the world know all about it.

Not long after, I started highlighting my hair, which at the time was just enough to cover the gray, but it wasn't long before I was having to use permanent color so no one would notice the silver lurking beneath.

I've used every color, although I normally try to stay close to my natural dark auburn.

I was even once a blonde, after spending the whole day at the salon. That day, my hair went from dark auburn to pumpkin to Marilyn Monroe blonde to strawberry blonde.

Because reds fade so fast, it wasn't too long before my hair looked more like straw than strawberry.

Every six weeks, I have to color my hair, because of how fast it grows.

My husband once told me I looked like a star when I didn't color it: "You know, honey, that silver streak makes you look like Pepe LePew."

As I grabbed a cast iron skillet off the stove, he tried to backpedal and say he thought skunks were beautiful creatures, but I didn't buy it. Even though I didn't hit him with the skillet, he surely regretted his words.

A few years ago, after 15 years of going to the salon or trying to do it at home every six weeks, I decided it was time to quit. Even though I was only 30 years old, I was going to stop coloring, go completely gray, and be done with it.

Because it had been so long since I hadn't colored it, I didn't fully know how much of it had turned. I soon found out that I am almost 100 percent gray.

I received a lot of compliments, everything from congratulations on being natural to people loving the color of it. One lady even told me she had tried to get that color in the salon and hadn't been able to achieve it.

Well, my cousins and siblings were a little more honest.

"When are you going to color your hair? You look old," was what they usually said.

At the time, I didn't care. I enjoyed being a little different and not having to worry about the color of my hair.

And then, the unthinkable happened. My 6-year-old daughter, Tessa, and I were at the grocery store and minding our own business in the check-out lane.

The cashier asked Tessa, "Are you having fun shopping with grandma?"

Tessa replied, "That's my momma, not my grandma."

The cashier's face was bright red as she stammered an apology, but I think my face was even redder.

I never saw myself as an older parent. I was 25 when Tessa was born, not too young and not too old, either. I wasn't an old parent; I just looked like one.

So, I decided to color my hair again. Being mistaken for your child's grandmother is not fun, not at any age. It's hard on the ego.

I had been coloring my hair again for almost a year when I found out I was pregnant. Even though my doctor said it was completely safe, others say it's not, especially in the first trimester, so I decided to wait.

I don't want to take any chances with this pregnancy, and it just seemed wise to wait. So, now I'm back to looking like Pepe LePew.

On Monday, I will officially be entering the second trimester, and I will be coloring my hair or going to a salon.

So, it's goodbye Pepe LePew and hello who? I know I'll never glow as beautifully as Angelina Jolie did while she was pregnant, but at least, I won't be mistaken for a skunk.

-- Tamara Belinc is a staff writer for the Times-Gazette. She can be reached at tbelinc@t-g.com.