MomLife, Uncategorized

Why Is There Hair There?

I’m in the shower, enjoying my once a week Sunday shower.

Don’t judge me, there is no time for any more than that at this point in my life…

Don’t worry, I wash my hair in the kitchen sink every other day and sponge bathe my body as needed. I will shower more when there is less to do. Some weeks there’s less, but right now there just seems to be more… so much more.

Back to my shower, I shampoo my hair and brush my teeth. I rinse the shampoo out and apply the conditioner. Maybe this time I’ll use a hair mask. My hair could use it.

Then I start to wash my body, usually with a creamy body wash that promises extra moisture. I squeeze some of the body wash onto the poofy thing that most of us have become accustomed to using to clean ourselves with (what’s it even called?), when I look down and notice some hair…… surrounding my nipple!

Don’t automatically think Sasquatch or anything. There’s not many, but they’re there, nonetheless.

Then I look over. Yep, they’re surrounding the other one too… Again, not many. But there they are, plain as freaking day. It doesn’t help that I am a natural brunette.

“I’m not a man, why do I have to deal with hair on my chest?” I asked myself just before shaving the hair on my upper lip and then my chin.

Do women not have enough to deal with?!

I told myself I would deal with those bad boys later, when I got out of the shower. I didn’t want to try to shave them away and end up cutting myself.

While still in the shower, I sit down to shave my legs. While shaving, my husband decides to stick his head inside the door to tell me I have a beautiful singing voice… Then he proceeds to ask me if he can buy stamps at the convenient store closest to our house…

Seriously!…. this question has to be answered now?!

This can’t wait until I get out?

He was actually asking me this, I knew, because he had used the last of the postage stamps out of my wallet and didn’t tell me, so I could get some more.

So, At 7 o’clock that morning, I was intently and diligently discussing the importance of informing me when such things occur.

He said we argued. I disagree.

I explained to my husband, in my patient, soothing tones, that the “argument” would be avoided had he told me he used up all the stamps last week and that I could have purchaed more stamps during the two trips I had already taken to the grocery store that week.

Whatever. I was, obviously, over reacting.

Back to my husband interupting some of the only time I get completely to myself:

Since the matter had to be promptly attended to now, as it could not be ignored any further, I told him where he could by the dang stamps so he would leave me with my last few moments in peace.

I was happy, however, that he didn’t decide to walk in while I was plucking my man chest nipple hairs. I would never hear the end of that.

Then the thought occurred to me: He saw me shaving! Does he think I’m shaving for him? You know what I’m talking about. Oh no…. no no no!

I’m currently in my week long battle with ovulation. But if I tell him that, he’s going to think it’s an excuse. I might as well just tell him I’ve got a headache, or that I have to wash my hair. Again.

Will that happen, will he be thinking what I think he’s thinking? I have no idea. But something I do have, are thoughts. Continuous thoughts going through my mind every second of every day.

What will we have for lunch? What outfit does Grace have to wear to dance class today? What are we going to eat for Dinner? Do I have enough chicken for that? I wonder if Jack turned in the homework he told me he finished? Did he lie to me about finishing it? No, he knows what I would do to him if he lies to me. Do I need dog food when I go to the grocery store? What will I do if he did lie? Where’s my watch? I hate going to the store, I’ve been twice this week already!

Constantly. Non-stop.

I got out; my gigantic mirror fogged over by my steamy shower, thank the good Lord, and I dried myself off with my leopard print towel. Meowwwww!

I squirt some lotion into my palms, I plop one leg onto the toilet and start to rub it on my newly smooth legs. Dangit! I missed a spot on the back of my leg! Then I apply the lotion onto my arms, trying to rub in the moisture filled youthfulness the lotion promises to provide. As I rub it into my skin I notice my under arm flab waving back and forth at me. Ugh.

After a few thoughts about the exercises I could institute to help the flab waving back at me issue, that I quickly dismissed after a laugh (exercise, no sir, not for me!), I grabbed my good set of tweezers and plucked those hairs surrounding 2 of the 3 main things that help anatomically define me as being female, but shouldn’t have hair. It didn’t hurt, much. Which is a blessing that I should be thankful for, because it could be so much worse. But women are tuff! We can take on a lot more than the plucking of a few anti-feminine chest hairs.

So many thoughts continue to go through my head as all of this is going on. So much to do with the present, so much from the past. And then, what about the future?!

My daughter walks in, as I contemplate everything that every was, and wants to show me her new dance she just made up. As a mom, my peace is only lasts as long as the water in my shower is running. But, that’s o.k. I love to watch my daughter show me her made up dances, she’s very interpretive.

And again, my mind starts racing:

I hope I can prepare her for her future I hope I can prepare her to be a woman, and the things that come along with it. I hope I can prepare her a little more than I was. A lot more than I was. There’s so much to discuss, things that will definitely make me feel uncomfortable while others will be easier. I hope. Will I be able to do that? Will she listen? Will she ask questions? Will I be able to answer them? Oh geez.

Oh my. My brain, it never stops.

Visit my website for more tales of mental chaos and uncertainty.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s