I have been updating my portraits with a new photo. The last one I had taken professionally was nearly 7 years ago. Plus, last fall I chopped off my waist length hair. It was time for a new one.

I have avoided short hair most of my life because, except for my coloring, I am a the spitting image of my mother. In our baby pictures, you have to figure out who it is by the people around the baby. If they are too young to be holding me, then they are holding my mother.

With all the traveling I am doing for book promotion, long hair is just too much of a hassle. I do miss having long locks to play dress-up with, and my drawer full of hair ribbons, bows, clips and ties is now in disuse, but the trade off is wash and wear hair. My husband greeted the change with glee. He now has easy access to my neck for sneak attack smooching. He usually does this when my hands are full and my back turned. I squeal and he laughs and escapes unscathed.

But I look at my new pictures and see my mother. It is very disconcerting. At least my daughter won’t have the same problem. She looks more like her father’s side of the family. She did inherit my mother’s dark hair, however. People say she looks like me, but I don’t see it. They also say she looks like my husband, which is funny since he looks nothing like her father.