Have you ever wondered what personal Kryptonite might drive you stark raving mad? Not ordinary everyday crazy, but utterly lunatic, skin crawling off batshit? Well, I have found mine. It is hair.
To be more accurate, it is HAIRS. Post-partum shedding continues apace. Hundreds of hairs detach from my head every day. They do not "fall out," exactly. Instead they creep through the thicket of their still attached brethren and slither out the bottom in horrible grotesque clutches. Or they escape some other way when I am not looking and attach themselves to everything. EVERYTHING.
Hairs twined around my arms and legs as I shower, hairs stuck wetly to every sink and faucet, hairs meandering across the furniture and wrapped around the baby, hairs clinging limp but tenacious to anything made of cloth. On the back of the sofa, draped over the stack of clean onesies, wound around my toe, in fat hamsterlike wads in the shower drain.
It is repulsive.
La la, you may say if you know me in real life, the grass is always greener, because normally my concern is a surfeit of hair. Well, I suppose it still is, but you know. My usual complaint is a mop of hair rendered so enormous by humidity that no clip on earth will contain it. How happy I would be now to trade such a problem for a tiny shred of sanity.
Also, we will soon be moving. HAIRS, DO NOT FOLLOW ME! How sad I will be when we unpack box after box of our possessions, only to find that they are all covered in gross old hairs. And what will our car be like after I have shed inside it for a week straight?
Have I mentioned that we have decided to drive across the country, us and our four-month-old and our cat? I don't expect the arrival of that shred of sanity any time soon. Please send Valium.