Confessions of a Professional Mom

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.

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Dear Social Security Office, I’m Changing My Name to Hairy

January 12, 2012 , , , , , , , , ,

Changing my name to Hairy!

There’s a phenomenon happening at my house. You don’t see it happening and you can’t stop. It’s getting out of control. I think it happens mostly when I sleep. Or fly in planes. Or even when I’m just sitting and thinking (yeah, like that actually happens). Have you guessed it yet? Wait, I know you’re excited…..drumroll please.

It’s unwanted HAIR! Yes, I said it. HAIR! Men have it all over their bodies, but in our culture, the less we have the better.

I’m convinced someone somewhere has a voodoo doll of me and they are laughing insatiably as they insert little dark hair plugs all over my body. Ok, so it’s mostly my chin…sometimes neck, arms and, God forbid, another place that I dare not disclose. Yikes!

I noticed this during my first pregnancy. I blame it on hormones. F-ing hormones. They are the bane of my existence. They mess with my chi on a daily basis. They are at the root of my constant conflict with self love. They suck! Anyway, why’d you make me go off on a tangent like that?! Stop it!

Don’t get me started on how much money I’ve invested in the removal of said hair. At this point, I think I could’ve paid for an African child’s education at Miss Oprah Winfrey’s school for girls. It’s ridiculous. The things that’s so frustrating is that it doesn’t go away. Once the minions are killed off they send in reinforcements. They multiply. It’s like rabbits.

The new thing that’s happening is that some of it is no longer black, but white. If I’m not careful, people are going to start mistaking me for Uncle Jessie from the Dukes of Hazard. Not Daisy Duke, for God’s sake, but Uncle Jessie. WTF  This was not part of my girlhood dream. Not in the cards. Not even remotely a thought in the farthest reaches of my brain. I don’t know what I thought I’d deal with when I got older. I mean, I’m only in my forties. I thought this shit happened when you’re, like 80.

I remember, once, walking in on my grandma helping my great grandma get dressed. The site of her wrinkled little body and that GRAY HAIR. That was the day I went legally blind in one eye. It was frightening, to say the least. Well, great grandma is laughing in her grave now, because I’m on the road to wrinkly and hairy. And fast! Be careful what you laugh at, ladies. It comes back to bite you in the ass. And chin. And arms.

This is one of those situations where I feel like I’m the only one. Now, I know this can’t be true, because the hair removal industry is raking in billions. I haven’t spent billions – YET. So I know there are others out there. I’m like Will Smith emerging from the rubble, hoping to find someone else. Anyone else. Ok, but not the scary zombie people who might eat my flesh.

Carry on ladies and think of me when you peer down at your gorgeous toned tanned arms and only see cute blond peach fuzz. And smile, thinking, how funny her name used to be Allison.

Stay sane, my friends.


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OK Do I really put this out there? Let’s just say one of the most amazing, sweet, kind things my husband has done for me during my pregnancy (at my request) has been to show me how good his hair clippers work. Now that’s love.



January 23, 2012

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