Pregnant women lose hair at a slower rate than normal, leaving them with a thicker head of hair than they had before becoming pregnant. I took advantage of my temporarily luscious locks and let my hair grow long. I could even go a full 24 hours or longer without shampooing and my hair didn’t look like I’d spent a week at Burning Man. Readers with thick hair will not understand what a glorious time this was for me. Yes, I’m using the past tense.
At about the three month mark Henry and I both start losing our hair. All of Henry’s baby hair reached a resting phase at the same time, thus most of it fell out (thanks to hormonal changes). All of my hair that didn’t fall out while pregnant got back on it’s regular falling out schedule (thanks to hormonal changes). It looks cute on Henry. Not so much on me.
So I got a haircut tonight. A short one. I’ve always had fine hair and at times have worn it long, but the current amount of hair loss made me look ill, even though the hair loss is natural. So short it is. I won’t miss sweeping up, picking up, wiping up my hair, everywhere, but I will always look back on my pregnancy hair with fondness and a touch of resentment.
Tim goes back to work tomorrow. Henry and I will miss him very much. Send a good thought or two if you can spare them, mostly to Tim. (I’ll have tissues, Dawson’s Creek, and a beautiful baby to help me get through it.)
Yesterday I watched the episode of Friends in which Rachel brings baby Emma home from the hospital. Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe stand in front of the bassinet, admiring the sleeping baby. Rachel says:
“I can’t get enough of her. Like right now, I miss her. I actually miss her.”
It happens. And it’s so weird. And so lovely that sometimes I can barely stand it.