My First Gray Hair

Sometimes I forget that I’m 28.

My 28th birthday came and went. I made a birthday cake I didn’t even eat the day of. Inside my head 27 is still there. Maybe I’m trying to hang onto these years the closer to 30 I’m getting. Though I’m not afraid of the big 3-0. I’ve seen my husband turn 30 without a panic after all, and 30s are still young.

I found it for the first time a couple of weeks ago.

A short hair was nestled at the front of dark brown coils. Maybe I blinked at it a couple of times in disbelief. No, it couldn’t be. Maybe it was a random blonde hair, like the blonde hairs on my forearm. I picked it out, carefully inspecting the color, pulling the curl taut against my scalp. It really couldn’t be.

I rushed to show my mom where she stood in the kitchen with my eight-month-old in her arms. “Look at this!”

“What is it?” She squinted. “A gray hair?”

It was all the confirmation I needed. My eyes were in fact not playing tricks on me.

–

My husband left to deploy with his reserves unit when our son was around 3 months old. We didn’t find out about the deployment until 2-3 months before my due date and it wasn’t set in stone until after our son’s birth. There were so many feelings involved, one being sadness and another was absolute panic. I stressed a lot about what I would do, even more so upon the arrival of our son. I spent weeks trying to figure out what to do- if I would go back home to North Carolina, or if I would stay in Wisconsin and try to do it all myself. My mom ended up moving up to help out with things, but apparently, it all still took a toll on me.

When I first found that hair it seemed like there was only one, but recently after washing and flat twisting my hair in preparation for *wig season, I found a couple of others. All of them were at the front of my hairline where postpartum hair loss took its toll, all were short and contrasted against my thick mass of dark hair. Suddenly, a feeling of existential dread washed over me despite knowing that anyone could get a gray at any time. Had everything been so stressful these last couple of months that some hairs had begun losing pigment? For a second I wondered if something was wrong, if I were somehow aging faster than I thought. Was it now time to begin dyeing my hair, which I have never done before in my life. All were dramatic feelings, and then I shook those ridiculous thoughts out of my head.

One of the best pieces of advice I've read online in mom and parenting groups is that we need to give ourselves grace, embrace the changes in our bodies and cut ourselves some slack as we’ve given birth to a human. Parenting is hard. Especially when it’s the very first time and we’re just trying to figure it all out. Babies don’t come with instruction manuals after all. We don't need more added stress about being hard on ourselves about the changes of our bodies. I know over these past few months I have stressed about the lingering 20 pounds (of 40+ gained) of baby weight my body absolutely refuses to shed due to breastfeeding. Along with that, my body just isn't the same as it was pre-pregnancy, my rib is cage wider, I have a c-section shelf of loose skin and my belly button is now droopy due to diastasis recti. In hindsight, I wished I loved and had more confidence in my body than I did before I became pregnant. Postpartum has humbled me and has been a time of grieving of my old self.

Everything so far– despite the fact that my husband has missed six months of our son's life, only seeing brief hours through FaceTime with sometimes lagging Wi-Fi, I don’t regret a thing. Of course, his physical absence takes a toll on me sometimes.

When our little guy used to fight sleep during the early days, my husband would take him and walk around until he finally fell asleep. I reminisce on those days that seemed so far ago. Sometimes I shed tears at night when laying in bed because I wish he was here with us. Sometimes in the mornings when I plop my son down to play in bed when I’m trying to wake up I think about how my husband would make him laugh and it hurts because we have however many months to go before he comes home. It hurts to know that this holiday season we will be spending it apart, that my husband won’t be there for our son’s first Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year. That they won’t be able to celebrate their birthday together since that’s when our son decided to come into this world almost a year ago. It sucks, but I’ve gotten through these six months with the help of my mom so far and I know I can make it to the end.

No matter how hard things get- the multiple night wakings for nursing, the frustrating times when my son just won’t go to sleep, the times when he’s screaming and crying when I’m trying to cook dinner or get myself ready for the day, or the times when I just don’t know what’s wrong or what to do, it’s all worth it. Because even though sometimes things are tough, I get my son’s wide smile each and every day (especially when I come home from work), I get his hugs and brief cuddles, I sing to him and read, I’ve watched him grow, hit milestones and learn new things, I listen to his cute babbling, I watch his sleeping face as he contact naps, nurses, and in his car seat on car rides. So many beautiful moments are captured through the passing days.

In the end, I know his father will be home soon and we can finally do things together as a family. The only thing I can do is embrace my grays and wear them with pride (after wig season passes that is).

For now, all I can do is hold my son a little closer and appreciate these fleeting moments. And all my husband can do is experience it all through our digital shared photo album, and on video whenever we chat seeing our son's face light up at the sight of him on the screen.

Maybe the number of gray hairs will increase or remain the same, but it reminds me that I’ve entered another stage of my life.

I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother.

–

*Wig season- October~May where the author wears a wig during the Midwest fall/winter season as a protective style.