Running my hands though the slippery conditioner coating, I extract palmfuls of wet, dislodged hair and stick them—like magnets to a fridge— onto the white tiling in our shower.
I knew this day would come, and came it did.
About a week ago, I started to notice my hair shedding more than usual: shiny fibrous strings clung to my sweater, my pants, my son, my son’s pants, and so on.
While in the bathroom a few days later, I noticed what can only be described as a tumbleweed of discarded hair—a soft, cradled bale peeking out from beneath the radiator, like a relic from the Dust Bowl.
Up until yesterday, though, the damage surveyed was only that which I left in my wake.
Then I saw it; the first true casualty of the Big Shed: a Toonie-sized patch where the right corner of my forehead meets my hairline—where, in this concentrated area, there existed more baldness than hair.
Goddammit.
“Can you control it?” My husband asked me—intended as rhetorical support—as I complained to my reflection in the mirror.
“No,” I snorted.
“Then there’s nothing you can do,” he replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
Admittedly, I am being a bit dramatic.
To be quite frank, the postpartum period has been kind on me. I am very grateful for that.
And while this excessive shedding is a small blow to my frail ego, I know—between hormone imbalances and stretch marks and mood swings and latching issues and sleep deprivation and mental health battles—there could be infinitely more to complain about. That’s not to say I haven’t experienced some of the aforementioned items, but I recognize deeply that I have been afforded some luck in the postnatal department.
And on the baldness front—it’ll grow back. I’m also kind of (secretly) OK with it because it just means my body is healing and getting back to business as usual. Hormones are levelling out and what was being held onto during pregnancy is now finally being let go—hair, ego, and all.
On the plus side you will discover new ways to style your hair that you didn't know existed!