Everyone I run into seems to want a hair update — a peek under the ole wig — so here it is: My daughter pulled my hair yesterday. You guys, she pulled my hair. That means that I officially have enough hair to pull. I mean, she does have tiny, sticky little fingers, but she managed it. It’s slow going, but check out the progress.
I’m kind of in love with my little cowlick. I fully know that maybe it’s the kind of hairdo that only a mother can love, but I bet my mom would just love my cowlick too! (My brother, who shaves his head on the regular, also has one.) Anyway, I feel like it gives my “hairstyle” a little sass.
My Christmas wish this year is that I would have enough hair by Christmas that you couldn’t see my scalp, and I think Santa’s little follicle elves or maybe baby Jesus himself are working it out for me. Speaking of Santa’s elves, we have the LAZIEST elf on the shelf ever. She’s always “falling asleep” when we do and waking up in the same spot in the morning. Half the time she doesn’t move until we are eating breakfast, and we’re not sure when she has the time to report back to the North Pole what with her narcolepsy and/or irresponsible nature. She was much more on top of things last year.
Anyway, back to my hair because I know you are all of the edges of your seats waiting for more. Can I just say that I expected this process to go a little faster? Like, it’s been two and a half months since I’ve had the toxic poison in my veins and that’s all I’ve got. I’m trying to make some breast cancer buddies, and when I see the hair of a couple of girls that are months ahead of me, I am disappointed. (You girls are beautiful, but you know what I mean. You are disappointed in the AGONIZINGLY slow way our hair is growing back too!) I kind of thought that at a year out, it would be down to my shoulders or something ridiculous. Yeah, no.
I can’t believe that, under a year ago, I had so much hair I had to pin it back so it wouldn’t get in my face. I used to have so much hair that, most days, I would put it in a messy bun. That means I had so much hair that I could FOLD IT OVER ON ITSELF. Oh, how I took it for granted. The day I can pull off a ponytail again will be deemed an official holiday in the Lagemann household. And do you know how pissed I’m going to be if the Sumbitch comes back and makes me start this hair process all over again? (Umm…among being mad about its stupid death threats and what not.)
In other hair news, the rest of my body hair is forcing me into the five stages of grief. I have been in straight DENIAL about the rest of my hair growing back. I’ve been denying that I need to shave my legs and armpits. I’ve been in denial that I need to clean-up my eyebrows. I found a little whisker on my chin — straight denial. My mustache is what snapped me out of the denial phase because I always told Josh that when my mustache came back, I would know that my hair was getting its shit back together. Well, there it was looking me right in the face (??), and I quickly moved into ANGER.
I am now super angry that I have to deal with all this other unwanted hair again. It was one of the only good things about cancer, and I don’t wanna! Three minute showers are amazing, and presently, it only takes me fifteen minutes total to get ready in the morning. I think I will continue to be angry about my mustache and forest of leg hair for a couple more days before I move on. The last three stages are bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance.
So if you see me in a few days trying to cut a deal with God or Josh (Who do I bargain with to never shave my armpits again?), move along, I will soon be depressed, and you probably don’t want any part of that. When I reach acceptance, it’ll probably be a good two hours in the bathroom with an assortment of new razors, wax kits, and maybe even a little Nair and bleach for fun. I’m not there yet, but Josh will be so happy.
P.S. Thanks to all of you who keep voting for me in Healthline’s blog contest. I am currently in third place, and I owe it all to you. I love you guys!