My two boys arrived first so when my much longed-for (yes I’m using the cliché sorry-not-sorry) little girl appeared, I couldn’t get enough of the pink shopping.
I bought tulle dresses, shoes with bows, tutus, and the entire pink floral contents of Cath Kidston for her room. But the girly bits I bought the most of related to her hair. Heart bobbins, clips with appliqué butterflies, seasonal slides with little snowmen on them, hairbands in every single colour (to match the tights in every single colour). I wistfully imagined us brushing our long lustrous locks together, her twirling a strand of fair hair around her finger as she asked me questions, and me plaiting her hair before school.
The butterflies, snowmen, and bands are still in their packaging. My daughter was born as bald as Patrick Stewart. Not a screed. But no surprise there, my babies were all baldies and the boys didn’t have any hair to speak of until they were two. Not to worry, I could wait.
Well, she turned four in January, and I’m still waiting. Gawd bless ‘er, her hair is less Kate Middleton and more Greg Wallace. Although there is now enough to scrape (and I mean scrape) into a teeny-tiny ponytail, I have to use the titchy loom band elastics instead of normal hair bobbins which fall out immediately. I’m not going to lie, I have secretly wondered how old she would have to be for a weave.
A friend of mine, whose daughter was born a month before mine, posts photos of her little Rapunzel on Facebook and I flinch. With hair tumbling down her back, I break out in a cold sweat every time I compare our females’ follicles. What about when she starts big school in September? Should I buy her a wig? Or maybe one of those comedy baseball caps with the hair attached? No? Okay no.
Speaking of Greg Wallace, I have tried so many remedies that would double up as Masterchef ingredients; rosemary, castor oil, eggs, lemon juice, the list goes on. I even tried onion juice after a Polish friend suggested its miraculous growth effects. Needless to say, despite having half a lemon drizzle cake dumped on her head and stinking of onions, she’s still sporting a fluffy comb-over.
Of course, I have never mentioned ‘the hair thing’ around her. In fact, I have over-compensated so much telling her how beautiful her hair is, how pretty her ponytail is, how much momma loves brushing it etc. etc. that she now frequently announces (to strangers) that she is four years old and has lovely hair.
If one more kindly person says ‘ahhh it’ll come’ or ‘my daughter was the exact same and now she looks like a mermaid’ yadda yadda yadda I’m going to scream. Another comment in the running for the Most Unhelpful 2017 Award is ‘and look at you with all your lovely thick hair that’s gas!’. Yeah, it’s pure gas. Smiles very tight smile.
On the plus side, I don’t have the morning hair/Elsa plaits/nit combing crises that plague my friends, and the time-saving element should not be underrated.
Oh, who am I kidding? I have hair envy! I have all the envy. I’m a hairball of envy. Where is her hair? When will it grow? Will my GP laugh at my woes?
Just don’t judge me if I make weave inquiries…
Have you got a baldie (husbands don’t count) in your home? Let me know your hair-growing-tips and experiences in the Facebook comments.
