My Name is Mommy

Yikes. When did this happen?

Okay, it’s not such a new thing, I know. It got worse with the last pregnancy. So, not only did I get to be awake all through the night getting kicked in the ribs dealing with all-night heartburn making ugly faces at my sleeping husband because, well, he was sleeping. I got to also have hot wax slathered on my face, followed by the painful ripping of each individual hair out of my upper lip. Just for kicks, I also had my eyebrows done.

Thankfully, the change in hormones has decreased the frequency with which I need to have this enjoyable process performed. That, or I’m just busier now with 3 kids and don’t notice as much. Ask my friends, maybe I should be keeping up better.

I just recently discovered the facial hair cream that I can do at home. Less than 6 bucks (because, remember, I’m cheap), which is all I used to pay for the waxing anyway. But that 6 bucks should last for months, now. Okay, so the 6 bucks has always lasted for months, but now I won’t be sporting a Tom Selleck facial-do for several of those weeks.

Guys like to complain about the time that we ladies spend in the bathroom, but I really think most of them would prefer it to going out with someone who resembles a Jim Henson creation. Do they realize how much time it takes to shave half your body every day (or once a week, as is the winter routine. Who’s going to care, anyway?)?

They complain about the difficulty of shaving under noses, on chinlines, near the Adam’s apple. Seriously? How ’bout behind the knee, armpits, and other such places that you CAN’T EVEN SEE!?! That’s talent. That’s dedication.

Now that I think about it, that’s crazy. Why do we do this anyway? What are we trying to prove? Who are we trying to impress? Why do we torture ourselves so? We already complain about how much time we don’t have, and yet we invest a bit of it in this inane ritual. Hmmmmm.

Maybe we should start a new trend, a revolution if you will. The hairy-gal generation. Our slogan could be, “We have hair, and we don’t care!” We could stage rallies and sit-ins at spas (and maybe get a manicure while we’re there!). Hey, that sounds like fun. A sit-in at a spa. Can my assignment be the sauna?

Sorry, got a bit off track there. Anyway, we spend a lot of time talking about being our true selves, but few actually mean it. At least not all facets of it. If we really wanted to accept people as we are, then why is the bearded lady a freak show attraction at the carnival? Why do we prefer for hairy creatures to be blue and consuming mass quantities of cookies rather than supermodels in their string bikinis? (Yes boys, they, too, are hair removing beings rather than naturally hairless below the brow line.)

I, for one, wouldn’t be bothered seeing a little more hair on the ones I love. Unless, of course, it was on the head of my baldmanblogging, because he’s great as is.