Why I Love My Husband

Before you roll your eyes, let me explain.  I am three months postpartum.  My husband has seen me become a sea lion with child, a warrior in childbirth, and finally, a nearly identical looking, but very different version of the wife he once knew. 

One of the great perks occurring in my body after having a baby has been massive amounts of hair loss.  Some people say this is just shedding the excess hair you gained when, thanks to hormones, you supposedly had fabulous hair in pregnancy.  From the look of my hair loss, I am guessing I shed any "excess" hair long ago, and this is a clear path to eventual baldness.  No joke, each time I shampoo my hair I am left with the equivalent of a small animal in my hands. Out of sick curiosity, and a fascination with my own unraveling, I have taken to plastering the shower wall with all of the hair I lose in a single shower.  I call it art.  More recently, I have decided to let all of the hair I lose collect in the bathroom, just to see how far I can go with it.  Mind you, we have only one bathroom, and it is not large. When I announced my plan to my husband, he was unfazed. 

"Are you collecting hair from the rest of the apartment, or is it limited to the bathroom?" he asks me.  "Just the bathroom," I say, wanting to appear methodical about the ordeal.  He nods.

This morning, when I went into the bathroom, to my great delight and like a shining jewel, I discovered a massive hairball placed carefully on the countertop.  He never asked me why, he never scoffed at my plan, and amazingly, he didn't even show disgust!  Instead, he supported me.  I felt acknowledged, as if he accepted my needs without questioning me and my motives for collecting my falling hair. 

I love my husband because he collects my hairballs…and he doesn't judge me for it.

Goodbye, glorious hair...

Goodbye, glorious hair...