I left the house last night shortly after dinner to have my highly anticipated hair-cut. Recently, I have started to feel less like a country mouse and more like a rat, drowning in a puddle of grey hair dye. It’s a night of transformation I always look forward to.

Having sat in a comfortable chair, flipping through magazines, leaning back towards the ceiling staring into a smooth coat of cloud white nothingness, while sniffing almond bark and cherry blossom conditioner, I felt relaxed, rejuvenated and ready to hit the ground running.

When I returned home after just two hours to myself, I felt as though I was re-entering a place I hadn’t been for a long time, like I was coming home from a long overdue vacation.

The house appeared to have moved a few feet closer to the road, the kitchen wall colour wasn’t quite as I had remembered it and for a moment, I couldn’t remember whether the water glasses were located in the cupboard next to the microwave or had they been swapped out for baking supplies.

The kids (despite being past their bedtime) were waiting for me in the kitchen, each with a book in their hands. Not one comment about my hair-cut but instead I was invited to referee a race with two participants, clambering to be the first to read a passage from their texts. Equally hilarious, I sent them off to bed hoping they would lead me down the hall towards the bedrooms as I had momentarily forgotten where they were located.

I tried to sneak past the baby’s room but she was shouting something about making Elmo cosy and when I tried to tiptoe past, “Mommy come here! Mommy come here! Elmo cosy Mommy! Cozy Mommy! Elmo! Come! Here!”

I peeked past her door and stood in her doorway waiting for her to drop the Elmo routine and compliment my new hair-cut, colour and how refreshing it must have been to have been served a cold glass of water without Cheerio dust floating in it.

I rocked her in her chair and hummed “Mommy Got a Hair-Cut” to the tune of Polly Put The Kettle On but she stared at me as though I had gone mad and was thoroughly confused by these made-up lyrics.

“Chloe,” I whispered. “How do you like Mommy’s hair-cut?”

“Nice and warm and cosy. So cosy Mommy. Elmo.”