1 Mother 2 Another

The second time around with pregnancy, you
think you’re prepared. You know what’s going to happen
afterwards – the fact that you’ll still look six months
pregnant even after the kid comes out, the fact that your ankles
will still be swollen a couple days later. You have a good idea of
how long it’ll take you to lose that post-partum weight, and
have already vowed not to cry when you’re wearing your
“fat pants” still four months later (I type as I eat a
Newman's Own Ginger-O's. Hey, they're organic!).


All of this experience and knowledge is a good thing, but
let’s face it – we still freak out. And for me,
it’s all about the hair.

When I had Maddie, I’d been warned
that your hair falls out post-partum, so not to worry. I’d
even had a run-in with a low thyroid a few years before and
experienced hair loss first-hand, so I figured in comparison
it’d be no problem. Three months post-partum, though, the
hair loss accelerated. I’m talking fistfuls going down the
drain at once, to the point that you start wondering how much
you’ve got left to spare. And then I started gaining weight.
I had all they symptoms of my low thyroid again – weight gain
(not easy to accomplish while nursing!), hair loss, tender scalp.
So we did a blood test and indeed, I did have a low thyroid. I was
put on a low dose of medicine and was infinitely relieved when my
hair loss slowed down and the weight gain reversed itself.


So when Cora was due, I was already talking myself into the hair
loss and consoling myself pre-emptively. You see, usually your hair
grows in three stages; at any given time roughly one-third of your
hair is growing, one-third is falling out, and one-third is
resting. When you’re pregnant your normal hair cycle of grow,
fall out, and rest is interrupted. In a good way, that is –
your hair stops falling out and you begin collecting it on your
scalp. Ever notice how thick and luxurious your hair felt while
pregnant?


That’s why.


After the baby, though, it’s payback time. All those extra
hairs look around and say, “Hey, I’m not supposed to be
here!” and start falling out willy-nilly. So what looks like
a mass exodus to you is really just catch-up time in Follicleville.
This is, thankfully, a bit delayed from birth; most people’s
hormones don’t settle down to allow this to happen until
you’re about three months post-partum, and can last until up
to five months post-partum. Incidentally, a dip in your thyroid can
mimic these symptoms but should be treated as it can affect the
baby and is thought by some to contribute to post-partum
depression, so if in doubt, ask your doctor.


I thought I was ready for this, but was a bit fuzzy on the dates.
So immediately post-partum when I noticed a few strands coming out,
I congratulated myself on how I was remaining calm and said,
“This is no big deal! I can handle this! I am evolved!”


Then three months hit.


And the hair came out by the fistful. I told myself to remain calm,
not to panic, not to worry. But it was no use – I panicked
anyway. Low thyroid, I told myself, and got tested – nope. I
didn’t even have the comfort of that. So I’ve spent the
past couple of months watching myself lose more and more hair and
become more and more convinced I’ll be walking around in a
wig soon. I mean, dear Lord, how much can one girl lose?


Honestly, I feel like I’m two strands of hair and a piece of
scotch tape away from cue ball status.


Every morning I’d look feverishly in the mirror at my
hairline. Were those tiny baby hairs starting to grow in? Nope
– just dirt from an unwashed head. Five minutes later, back
to the mirror – anything now? Nada. If staring and willing it
to be so could make a difference, I’d have a thick, lush rug
by now. I knew that when my hair started growing in again the
fall-out phase would be over, so I was really rooting for some, um,
roots.


Thankfully, I started to notice the peach fuzz last week –
right when I’d begun to consider drawing in a few strands
with an eyebrow pencil (sounded like a good idea at 3 a.m.). My
body hair is also growing faster, which means I’m getting
back on track. So now I can run my fingers along my scalp and feel
a very short buzz cut coming in, even as I stare in the mirror and
chant, “Grow! Grow! Grow!”


I know I’m exaggerating how much was lost – most people
wouldn’t look at me and notice a difference. But my ponytail
shrank to almost half its regular size, and that’s huge.
Especially when your self-esteem is lower than your toddler’s
pull-ups.


Pregnant women of the world, be warned – your time is coming.
Don’t freak out. Or if you do, know you’re in good
company.