I’m still figuring out all the ways I can bring greatness out of my hair. It’s been a fun journey these last five years. Having my daughter pop out with similar voluminous chaos coming out of her scalp has been a joy (and a pain) for me.

I now know what my mother was going through when she had to wash and detangle my damn curls. Prayer circle every time I get my kid in a bath and start her hair. She is so sensitive. And so am I!

It brings back memories of me getting my hair done and being called “tender-headed” because I dared to wince at someone scraping and yanking a dry, wide-toothed comb through my fucking roots. Not pleasant.

I bear that in mind when I work on taming her curls, a mix of my Black Puerto Rican-ness and her father’s Jewish heritage. A wild union in more ways than one.