Before kids, you’d have been hard-pressed to find me with excess body hair. Things were always sleek and smooth, thanks to the extravagance of lengthy showers … and the disposable income to buy razors that, well, weren’t. I kept myself tidy and hair-free because I could. (And because, you know, I was “getting some” on a regular basis.)
But after nearly a decade-long stretch of being pregnant and birthing/raising four kids, hair removal has been pushed to the back burner. The far back burner. The back burner on, say, the floor model stove at the appliance store across town.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate being as fuzz-free as one of those creepy hairless cats. I do. And when I get the chance, I attend to my stubble like a proper lady. But the problem is actually getting the chance. My oldest is only nine, so I’ve had a steady stream of unreliable babies/toddlers/preschoolers for the past few years who can’t be trusted while I take my sweet time behind that vinyl curtain. Once when I dared to duck quickly into the shower, I emerged – still half-soapy and dripping – to find this:
In case you’re wondering, that’s a full box of baby wipes, the bath soap, and my spaghetti spoon. In the span of, oh, five minutes.
Actually, even as the kids get older, I still don’t want to take my eyes off of them for that long – because everybody knows that as soon as Mom disappears into the bathroom, it’s time to do the things that she won’t let you do. Like raid the cabinets and find the stash of candy she keeps for her own personal emergencies. (And that’s an emergency in and of itself.)
So the showers have to be short and perfunctory. No extra fancy stuff like shaving regularly – no sir. I might swipe a razor over my pits if I have a few extra seconds, but the other areas are luxuries that my busy mom lifestyle rarely affords.
There are, however, times when a shave is a necessity – such as:
- When I’m wearing capris or something that shows skin. Because leg hair that’s long enough to curl is not hot when it’s curling out from beneath your cropped pants.
- Visits to the gynecologist, when I spend an hour removing the hair I’ve neglected for six months in order to pretend I’m always that impeccably groomed “down-there.”
- When it’s our anniversary or some other special occasion where I feel the need to give my poor husband the gift of a wife without cactus-legs and Sasquatch-crotch.
But as far as the routine everyday ankle-to-hip-and-then-some shaves, those disappeared along with my carefree childless lifestyle. These days, the only hair removal I maintain with any regularity is the hair on my face – because not everybody can see when you’ve got hairy legs, but a mustache isn’t exactly something you can hide (same with a beard, which I grew during my first pregnancy and unfortunately held onto. I have to keep that crap in check lest I be mistaken for a member of the Duck Dynasty cast).
Fortunately, I married a guy who doesn’t mind – or at least doesn’t say so, bless his heart – when my leg hair rivals his in length. And someday, I’ll once again be the shaven maven he fell in love with. After the kids are old enough to be trusted while I’m in the shower, of course.
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