Requiem for my hair

There are a lot of things people don't tell you about the process of gestating, birthing, and sustaining a child until you are already pregnant. It's the grand conspiracy of the human species: only disclose the unbelievable indignities of the process when it's too late for the poor mama-to-be to change her mind.

Some of these indignities do get leaked. Like the fact that pushing out a baby also frequently involves pooping. In front of other people. Like nurses. And your spouse. Really. My sister just read that and did a spastic zombie cringe (hi Jen! That one was just for you! Poop!). Actually, the whole process of pushing in general feels like you're basically trying to shit a watermelon. Compared with the contractions that come before, I wouldn't call it painful. Just really fucking uncomfortable. But that's a story for another blog post.

Despite the few leaks, on the whole, the sorority of motherhood does a pretty good job of keeping the hazing under wraps while touting the benefits of joining. Like how great pregnant sex is! (This is a dirty lie. Favorable hormones are quickly overridden by the challenges of copulating whilst carrying a bowling ball in front of you.)

The most commonly cited pregnancy benefit by far, however, is the hair growth. Mothers, doctors, midwives, your hair stylist, etc., cannot wait to tell you how long and lush and beautiful your hair is going to be during your pregnancy. It'll be just like the shampoo commercials, only better! And natural! It'll be fierce.

This little tidbit is so widely touted that one might be inclined to believe that it is in fact a universal truth that the combined power of pre-natal vitamins and raging hormones magically turns every woman into Rapunzel. This, too, is a dirty, dirty lie.

The minute the plus-sign appeared on the pee stick, I started envisioning all of the long, thick, flowing hair I was about to grow. Of course, I was also excited about the baby. I'm not a total ass. But I was excited about the hair.

So I waited. And while I waited, I threw up all over creation (parking lots, alleys, bus stops, yards, you name it -- post on that to follow). I became rotund. I developed a waddle. I decided that the only acceptable food source was Chipotle and got a lot of crap from my coworkers. But in all of those nine months, I did not get the great hair that I was fucking promised.

It didn't grow faster. It didn't get thicker. It didn't get glossier.

In fact, the only notable thing my hair did was experiment with going gray as a final "fuck you." I actually had to pluck two strands. Mark confirmed that they were, in fact, gray.

In any case, nine months went by, and finally Avery was served with her eviction notice, and we had a baby, and I did not give one single shit about my hair. Not one. Not until the past few weeks, when my hair -- the very same hair that stubbornly refused to grow during my pregnancy when everyone else was a walking shampoo commercial -- started falling out. In clumps. It's more than shedding. It's more like molting.

Turns out that hair loss is one of those indignities that people decide not to tell you about until its already too late. All that glorious hair you were supposed to have grown during your pregnancy? Oh, did you think that was permanent? Bahahahahaha. NOPE. Did you not grow any extra hair during your pregnancy? Sorry, you're still going to lose hair. Copious, copious amounts of hair that gets pulled out by your hair brush, by the water in the shower, and by the cooing, adorable baby whose parasitic growth model got you into this whole debacle in the first place.

Is going partially bald a reason not to have a baby? No way. Having a baby is great. Even when you're exhausted and hungry and covered in some combination of vomit, drool, and poop, having a baby is great. They are totally magical.

But the hair thing... it's bullshit.


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