It’s so cliché, but really folks, life is pretty darned short.

I’ve obviously adapted to a new way of looking at life since the birth of my son. But that doesn’t just reach a new level and stay there. It creeps up and up when I’m not looking, when I’m not expecting it, when I’m not looking for it — little wake-up calls, if you will.

I spent the better part of a 12-hour day today interviewing the families of four people killed in a car crash this past weekend. Ordinary and extraordinary, all of them between 37 and 51 years old. Four people going about their lives, taken in an instant. I’ve heard all about them today.

“We stuck together through thick and thin,” said one son of his mother.

“She liked helping people out when they needed it,” a daughter said of her mother.”Their biggest joy was being grandparents.”

People would have a better life because of her daughter, a tearful mother told me.

No matter how many feature obits (as we call stories that honor a recently-deceased area resident) I do, they still hurt. They’re still the intimate tip-toeing into some of the most difficult hours a family has to endure. But I can’t tell you how special these stories mean to most of these families. Instead of an obituary, they have this opportunity for a beautiful last thing for their loved ones.

What would your feature obit say about you? Have you made the most out of THIS day?

In less whoa-deep thoughts, I’m loving my new camera, but I realize every day how very much I still have to learn. It’s a Nikon D-3000, so if anyone has any pointers on how to not be point-and-click dependent, I’d love it.

I’m getting there. I just love all of the memories I’m able to capture. I love viewing this beautiful life of mine through the viewfinder on my favorite new “toy.” The things I capture — not due to my talent as a photographer, but due to my luck and blessings as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend… — they’re just perfect.

Momma got a haircut today. A much-needed, long-awaited “trim” that nearly turned into a G.I. Jane cut because I was just fed up with the whole thing.

I had a lot more than split ends on my shoulders. I had a lot of heavy baggage that I didn’t realize I’ve been carrying all these months.

The last time I had my hair cut was this summer, in preparation for baby showers and to combat the fast-growing (thanks, hormones!) hair and ever-growing roots. I was 5 or 6 months pregnant, elated, excited and Miss Positivity. I sat in the swiveling chair chatting up about name choices, ultrasounds and dreams of a left-handed pitcher for a Major League baseball team. My world hadn’t been rocked, for better or for worse yet.

So when my hair reached the middle of my back, with little life to it, I used braids, ponytails and headbands to make it disappear.

My hair, you see, has been the container for depression; a holder of my Bad Mommy Thoughts about Down Syndrome. I only last week, phone in my hand to make an appointment at the hair salon, realized that I was afraid of going back to a place that reminded me of LBDS — Life Before Down Syndrome. There are a lot of places like this.

The grocery store? I remember waddling down the aisles looking at baby food containers, not realizing how late it would be before our child could eat cereal, mushed carrots, solid foods.

My work office? The first day I found out I was pregnant, I had to work in the city 40 miles away instead of at home. And I was so happy at my desk, imagining everything… everything that didn’t quite turn out the way I thought it would.

Gosh, I sound whiny. I’m not really this negative all the time. It just comes out in spurts when I least expect it.

Tonight’s appointment wasn’t bad. I laughed with my hair stylist and talked about baby’s sleep schedule, mohawks and a helpful Daddy. A part of me was sad. It’s a small town and there’s a lot of big mouths in the area, so I couldn’t help but wonder, “Does she know?”

She didn’t say anything and she didn’t let on, but I did feel like we were dancing around certain things. Why didn’t she ask me if he’s smiling or if he’s rolling over? Is it because she knows he’s behind in his development already?

But I left the place with one fewer black hole in my spirit and much less weighing me down.

I have a new ‘do and in a way, it’s a re-do that will let me move forward with yet another chapter. We’re in LADS mode for sure and there’s no escaping, but it doesn’t have to weigh me down like a forgotten bit of hair.

I’m refreshed.

And a wee bit sassy.