I never considered postpartum hair loss until a friend mentioned it to me on Instagram five months ago. I said I liked some new hair products I tried, and she said,
"Let's see how it does with your postpartum falling out/ baby hairs. They are awful."
I chuckled in the way that smug people pat others on the head and thought, Oh, please. Everyone said my hair would change while I was pregnant, too, and that never happened. Lies! She warned that it wouldn't start until 3-6 months postpartum. I shrugged. At only four weeks postpartum, my ego was still slightly inflated from delivering naturally.
Postpartum hair loss? Pshhh. Please. I just pushed a baby out sans drugs, muthalovuh! The rules of mere mortals no longer apply.
Oh, how humbling parenting can be. The day Press turned four months old, my hair started falling out. By "falling out," I mean shedding like a homeless cat mid-day in August in Texas. I was in the shower combing conditioner through my hair with my fingers when I realized my hands were full of my own hair. (Did Cousin It have hands? If he did, that's what they would have looked like.) I was used to some shedding, but I started to wonder if I was going to have bald spots. To keep it all from clogging up the drain, I've always been in the habit of putting my hair on the shower wall and then wiping it off and throwing it away afterward. Do you do that too?
For the last two months, my hair has been everywhere. Like, everywhere. On the floor of every room of the house, the seat of my car, my office desk, my purse, the hair tie around my wrist, the sink, my clothes. I told S that I was losing my hair, and he said,
"I know. I threw away the wig I found in the shower yesterday." (Oops!) These are the romantic one-liners we exchange these days. Despite losing what seems to be a third of my hair, it is still as thick, wavy, and frizzy as ever, so... RIDDLE ME THIS. I'm so confused.
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As if losing all of my hair (and none of it at the same time) wasn't bad enough, my child gave me a little taste of her future pre-teen self. Zip-a-dee-do-da!
Presley is very alert and follows the conversation when S and I are talking. Her eyes bounce back and forth between us like a tennis ball. Her eyes stare very intensely, and her lifted chin exposes her precious little neck which is usually hidden beneath that scrumptious baby fat. Recently, she decided that she wanted to join the conversation. With much determination, she let out that dreaded scream-talk I mentioned yesterday. With a low, soft voice, I said,
"Presley. Please do not do that. Nobody likes that. It hurts Mama's ears." She slowly turned her head from S to me, held her stoic glance for three seconds, and then blinked her eyes. My child slow-blinked me. I was utterly taken aback. Before I could even react, S was practically wheezing with laughter. I gasped.
"Excuse me? Did you just slow-blink your mama?" Then I started laughing. And then Presley started laughing.
It was so well executed that I wanted to slow clap her slow blink.