I went through this with Hayley too so I knew it was coming, but I’m still unimpressed: I am drowning in postpartum hair. No matter where you look, you can find my hair. It’s all over my clothes. My brush looks like a wooly mammoth. It’s in the bathtub drain, tangled in Breanna’s hands, on my pillowcase. It falls down inside my shirt and tickles my back. I’ve found it in my pants. My vacuum cleaner has more hair than crumbs, fluff, and pet fur combined; there may even be more hair than glitter in there, and in this household that’s saying a lot. Poor Hayley is forever saying, “I found some of your hair Mommy!” when she takes a bath. My hair ties are freakish hybrids of elastic and hair. If I didn’t wear my hair pulled back at all times, all the food I cook would be inedible and gross. If I run my hands just over the top layer, I guarantee I’ll come away with at least ten loose hairs.

Oh the joy. It’s that time again, where you realize the payback for having fantastic hair throughout pregnancy is that eventually all that extra volume has to go.

This really makes me want to go get my hair cut above my shoulders again. It wouldn’t stop the hair loss, mind you, but at least it would be shorter.

It’s a shame that the process drags on. Although it would be a little shocking, it would be so much nicer if it all happened in one fell swoop. As long as it didn’t happen, say, while you’re in line at the bank, it would be so convenient. You could just be walking into the bathroom when there would be a wee breeze, followed by a thwapping sound, and there at your feet would be a pile of old hair. Then you could just sweep it all up and be done with it.

Instead, I feel like I’m trying to rival the damn cat, the two of us in a challenge to see who can shed the highest volume of hair per day. I think I’m winning. By a hair.