My Daughter, the Identity Thief

The other day, the hubs and I were reminiscing about the last year of our lives. You see, our sweet Sugarbean is about to turn 1, and we are in a constant state of disbelief (and joy!). We were discussing everything we’ve been through in that time, and he mentioned how proud he was of me for breastfeeding our baby for her first year. (I know, he is so incredibly thoughtful.) I thought about this for a second, and then replied “I know! My hormones changed, the look of my body changed, and my hair color changed and then it fell out! I completely lost my identity!” But as soon as I said it, I felt that it wasn’t entirely accurate. I hadn’t actually lost my identity, but rather my identity had changed…drastically…and the outward appearance changes were the smallest of them all.

Let’s start with my outward appearance…if you know me, you know that I’ve never been a primper. I just have a few basic things that I like to keep looking nice, and my hair is #1 on that list. I really really like my hair. I like the color, and like even more that it’s my natural color. A nice light honey blonde. And I like the texture of it, too. No fuss, no muss, just long soft blonde hair.
During my pregnancy, my hair was glorious. There’s no other word to describe it…just glorious (full, long, soft). It wasn’t until Bean was about 5 months old that I noticed I was losing a lot of hair. I had read about shedding your hair after giving birth since you retain so much of it during your pregnancy, so I wasn’t that concerned.

At about 7 months out is when I found them…those annoying ugly pesky little “baby” hairs sticking straight up around my crown. Where the hell did those come from? I’ll tell ya where they came from…they were a nice little “gift” from my daughter.
I had to change my hairstyle to hide the spikes, which just annoyed me because like I said, I love(d) my hair the way it was. But OK, I found a style I could live with, and gave myself a daily reminder that it’s just hair, and it will grow back.
But just as soon as I had to come to peace with the spikes, I started getting comments about my hair color:

“Did you change your hair color?”

“Your hair looks darker!”

“Wow, you’re almost a brunette!” (This person clearly wanted to get punched in the throat.)

You brunettes out there reading this, please don’t take offense. My best friends are brunettes, and I love a dark sultry mane, but my identity my whole life has been that of a blonde. I couldn’t be a brunette. I was the only blonde in my family. I had a lot to live up to.

And then I received this comment…compliment?...comment:

“Wow! I love your new color! What did you do to it? It looks so much nicer with your skin!”

I mean…what?

Are you saying my original hair color didn’t look good on me before? How does that even make sense? But are you also complimenting me? I was confused, saddened, and happy all at the same time. Not that this emotional cocktail was new to me, I was post-partum after all.

But through it all, I can honestly say that I never once felt that I had lost my identity. Never. I felt like my identity had done a complete 180, and at the root of it all, my identity centered around me being a new mom. I was proud of what I had accomplished, of the new person that I was. I was interested in dressing my new body, and after some adjustments, I was interested in styling my new hair. Sure, I had bad days…I missed my delicate, lacy bras. But I wasn’t about to chance leaking all over it (I know, TMI) and I needed easy access for those all-too-common pumping sessions (again, I know, TMI).

So I made peace with my changed identity. And it’s not until you make peace with something, that you can truly appreciate it. Case in point:

Just the other day, a co-worker said to me: “Your hair looks great! Did you lighten it?”

My response: “Nope, same ol’ color as it’s ever been.”