Hey there, baldy

And other postpartum delights…

Seriously, pregnancy is hard work on the old(er) body. Forget all that stuff about glowing, for me it was nine months (or eight for firstborn, James) of delicate gums, nasal congestion and jet lag-like fatigue. But without any cool international passport stamps to show for it. The first of my friends to have babies was the one to tell me that pregnancy makes your hair & teeth fall out. I was utterly appalled and this dire news was about all the contraceptive I needed for 10 years following. Until biology got the best of me.

I’m relieved to say that I still have all my teeth after two pregnancies, but my hair? It’s seen better days!

Hair loss

These days I stand outside to brush my hair. The dog looks at me like “you, too?”. It’s actually preferable to preen out in the winter elements while checking my reflection in the kitchen window than to chase fistfuls of hair around the bathroom floor.

This has been going on since around the three month mark and is finally showing signs of slowing down as I approach eight months post delivery.

I currently have a  most attractive receding hairline. Adding insult to injury, the hair that’s growing back is sparkly grey stuff, resplendent amongst the browns. I’m not at all surprised that my hair doesn’t have the energy put on appearances and bother with colour.

My solution is simply to disturb my hair as little as possible and hope not to exacerbate the hair fall. As if I have time for washing, brushing or styling my hair on anything but a sporadic basis anyway.

Memory loss and general befuddlement

Mumnesia is real. I couldn’t organise my way out of a paper bag lately, and spend a lot of time turning around in circles wondering what I doing.  I saw a post on Facebook that said something like, “You call it multitasking. I call it doing something else until I remember what I was doing in the first place “. I’m doing a lot of multitasking these days.

I hadn’t yet recovered my former IQ between the arrivals of babies number 1 and 2, so fortunately the old baby brain hasn’t come as too much of a surprise this time around and I already have systems in place so that I don’t have to count on my memory too much.

My Google calendar is my online memory bank. I frequently send myself emails. I have lists galore and a habit of leaving things in unusual places as memory triggers. A hairbrush left on the kitchen bench is probably a reminder to go outside and brush my hair.

Random skin complaints

Baby Ailish and I are going about 50/50 through a tube of Bepanthen as I try to eliminate her teething rash and my collection of random patchy bits. I went to the doctor while pregnant with a laundry list of complaints I’d been saving up for a while (I like to get my money’s worth) and she told me that dermatitis is common in pregnancy. Eight months later…

I wash my hands approximately 150 times a day because raising kids is a very messy business. As a result my hands look about 150 years old. In direct opposition my facial skin looks about 15 years old thanks to hormonal breakouts. I’d say all the hand cream that’s being inadvertently  transferred to my face isn’t helping either.

Wide ribs, hips, feet

It seems that pregnancy has stretched me sideways in a permanent fashion. I weigh less now than before either of my pregnancies, thanks to being the primary source of nutrition for a hungry 9kg baby, but my clothes and shoes all fit strangely.

On the odd occasions that I’ve worn anything other-than ultra casual I’ve been ultra uncomfortable. Underwire digging into my rib cage, denim waistbands with no give and pinching leather shoes have seen me dying to get home to my loungewear and bare feet.

Ok, I don’t own any ‘loungewear’. I really mean pjs and trackies.

And all the rest of it…

Everyone who’s ever been pregnant, or knows someone who’s been pregnant, or was ever once a baby themselves knows the rest of the stuff because it’s common knowledge; squishy tummy, inflatable/deflatable breasts, complexion that’s more-or-less colourless save for the blues and purples at the inner eye corners.

Were my beloveds worth a reflection I hardly recognise, that’s changed from top to toe?

Of course.



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