As if I don't stress enough already, the other night Smalley nearly gives me a freaking heart attack. She comes out of the shower, walks into the kitchen (practically dripping wet, seriously, the girl simply refuses to dry her skin after she showers) and asks me, "Mom? Is there hair stuck to my back?"
*sigh* The randomness of it all kills me sometimes. But still I must go on: "Yes Smalley, of course there's hair on your back. You washed your hair didn't you?" (FYI: her hair is medium length, running about 4-5 inches down her back.)
Smalley: But Mommm, it's bugGGging me!"
dreag21: Smalley I don't have time for this right now. I'm making dinner. Get dried and get dressed and I'll fix your hair after.
Smalley: Okay Mom, thanks! (She's excessively cheerful sometimes.)
So this little exchange buys me peace for all of about two minutes. Because then she's back, but this time, when I turn around I notice that tears are streaming down her face and her eyes are wide as saucers. Before I can ask what's wrong she drops this on me:
"Mommy! Why's my hair coming out? Do I have DIABETIES?! Am I dying?! Waaah!" And she presents me with a big wet clump of her hair... in her hand!
So of course I drop the knife on the cutting board and quickly grab her head to see what the hell IS going on. She grabs another section of hair on her head, pulls and says, "See Mommy! What's wrong with me?!" as she pulls it right out of her head with no resistance whatsoever. And I nearly shit myself.
(An important side note: Smalley goes to a babysitter in the mornings and after-school while I'm at work. The babysitter's teenage daughter has diabetes. Apparently Smalley has been asking a lot of questions about diabetics and what it means. Just so you understand where that came from. Also, I took her to see Marley & Me last Christmas (no I still do not understand why I would do something so stupid - I'd read the book, I knew the dog would die yet I still took my highly emotional then-six-year-old to see this movie - stupid move, I know!) and she went through a scared-of-death-scared-to-sleep-scared-to-let-Mommy-out-of-her-sight phase for like three months. Anyway, back to the kitchen and Smalley's hair falling out.)
So at this point all I can think to do is stall. I tell her we need to go to the bathroom where the light is better and she follows me down the hall wailing the whole time. I finally ask her to "Shut up for a sec so I can think, please!" and get down to examining her head. As I touch her bangs a chunk of hair, literally all of her bangs, falls out. I grab a wisp from the back and it comes off in my hands. NOW I am thinking what the hell is wrong with my kid?!
I ask her: Smalley, did you put anything in your hair that shouldn't have?
Smalley: *sob weep cry* No Mommy, I promise I didn't. I just used my shampoo. *sob weep cry*
dreag21: Are you sure? You didn't rub anything into it at Heather's? Or in the shower? *choking back panic*
Smalley: *sob weep cry* NO Momma, I told you I just used my shampoo. *sob weep cry* And the little comb for the knots! *sob weep cry*
dreag21: (having a moment of clarity, tone of voice changes from worried to annoyed instantly) WHAT comb?
Smalley: (stops mid-sob having detected change of tone) The little white one in the shower on the shelf.
dreag21: Oh Smalley. That's not just a comb, it's a blade!
So here's where the story will require me giving a little TMI but it's necesary folks. The little white comb that Smalley has been pulling through her head is this thing:
Except mine is white. It's a razor comb. It holds a flat balde razor and is used for... er... ummm... personal grooming. Does a really neat job of it too, without getting too close, which can lead to some unpleasant aftereffects, you know? *cough* itchy! *cough*
So anyway, mistaking it for a small comb, Smalley was pulling this thing through her hair in the shower and probably amazed at how easily the knots were coming out. As I realized THIS is why her hair was falling out I had a serious Homer Simpson moment. I could have just choked her. But I was so relieved that nothing was actually wrong with her that I could have cried too.
So as I search her head for cuts, I begin another session of a conversation that Smalley and I have a lot. One that I think we'll continue to have for a long time. It goes like this:
dreag21: Smalley, do you know what you did wrong here that has made so much of your hair come out?
Smalley: No Mommy.
dreag21: Well you were troubling something, you used it incorrectly and you're lucky you didn't hurt yourself. What have I said about troubling things that don't belong to you? (Admittedly my tone varied between flabbergasted and almost yelling here, I mean really kid? You could have scalped yourself!)
Smalley: Not to.
dreag21: Then why did you trouble it Smalley?
Smalley: I don't know.
dreag21: Well now you'll have all the time that it takes for your hair to grow back to think about why you shouldn't trouble things that don't belong to you.
Smalley: Okay Momma.
She now has some very rough chunks in throughout the back, but they're not too noticeable, especially when her hair tied back in a ponytail. The bangs however are a really sight.
I have to hope the folks at the salon can do something about this:
My seven-year-old now sports a comb-over!