Last week, I took a final accounting of my hair situation. Not because I had a tremendous amount of confidence that I was not going to lose any more, but because I couldn’t keep staring at my few remaining ones. Results:

– A small amount of hard stubble on my head that’s been there for six weeks.
– Six eyebrow hairs above my right eye, five left.
– One eyelash on my upper right lid, one lower.
– Three eyelashes on my upper left lid, none lower.
– Tons of blond forearm hair.
– Three hairs on my right big toe, two left.

That’s it! No nose hair or ear hair or leg hair or even peach fuzz. My face and upper arms are incredibly soft, almost baby soft. Michael and I think it’s because they are completely hairless and are going to examine the next baby we encounter (with a kind parent) for peach fuzz production to verify this hypothesis.

And then, a couple nights ago, I noticed that my eyebrow bones looked bruised. I congratulated myself on being so tired that I actually achieved under-eye circles above my eye as I leaned into the mirror to see what was going on. And then practically fell over. Because I have DOZENS of new baby eyebrow hairs pushing up! I tentatively felt my brows, and the regrowing hairs feel like a kitten’s belly. I stared, amazed, at my face while stroking my new brows for a full two minutes. And then I sprinted to the phone and interrupted my husband’s dinner with:


He laughed.

I woke up the following morning and tripped over a cat and a pair of jeans in my haste to get to the mirror to look at my new bruised brow bones. As I ran the tips of my index fingers over them again and again, the pad of my finger noticed that my eyelids weren’t as smooth as they usually are. My gaze drifted an inch south. While trying to avoid becoming cross-eyed, I stared at where my eyelashes should be. Poking out of my upper lid’s water line were tiny tiny hairs.  Anything lower?  I couldn’t see anything, and my fingers couldn’t feel anything.  I quickly ran my hands lightly over my scalp.  Nope.  Nothing.

I tumbled into the shower to shave my hard head stubble before anything happened up there.

All morning, I ran my hands over my head softly and gently, trying to catch anything that could be happening.  I know it’s silly; I had just shaved!  But then, late in the afternoon, I actually felt something.  It almost felt like pool table felt, and only if I barely touched my head.  Any more pressure and the soft fuzz disappeared, replaced by my skin.  Back to the mirror, I tried to see the fuzz on my head.  No luck.  So I turned my attention back to my eyes.  Upper lids still growing, and, oh! Are those little hairs poking out of my lower lid?  They look like little dirt specks.  I carefully touched my lid, and the little specks touched me back.

Look out, folks, I’m coming back!


Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

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