when we first moved to connecticut i babysat for my now good friend and her two awesome children. emma was 4 and at the peak stage of what i like to call no-filter-mouth. things were as they were. plain and simple.
one morning as we were getting dressed she explained how it had been a tough day so far because a piece of fuzz was stuck in her vagina.
another colorful day she described to me the differences in boys and girls and their anatomy, which was fine and dandy – until she thought it would also be appropriate to describe how she and her brother’s differed from her mom and dad’s. in great detail. oh, boy. way too much information, thanks. her mom and i have had a few good belly laughs about his one. oye vay.
during vacation i got a little glimpse of jackson entering this stage.
i was wiggling my nose at him – during noses - our version of an eskimo kiss (is that what it’s called?). he cocked his head to the side and got in real close to my face.
with the most inquisitive and perplexed expression he said, “mommy, grass in there?”
lorday. no, sweetie, that is just mommy’s nose hair. i know, it’s funny, but there is hair inside your nose. and yes, you are totally right, it does look like grass.
may i add now that i apparently have no shame; nothing is holy anymore. from deflated boobs to grassy noses, i’m lettin’ it all hang out.
better out then in, my husband would say.
and while we’re airing the laundry, let me tell you about a lovely skin pigment condition called melasma. aka, hannah has a mustache.
i have known other women with melasma (or chloasma: onset during pregnancy) and started ever so slightly noticing it on my upper lip after a few sun-exposed days. but with my gagillion freckles, it was hard to tell. perhaps i was just seeing things.
well, upon returning from beach day numero tres i almost collapsed on the bathroom floor. i had a mustache. full on brown mask-ish mustache. you’ve got to be freaking kidding me.
after scrapping myself up off the floor and letting my hair down (as if that would help soften the blow) i approached justin and my mom and explained and showed.
it took a couple days for justin to stop looking at my lip when talking or looking in my direction (he’ll tell you otherwise, but i know the truth). and you know it’s really bad when your own mother doesn’t try to tell you you’re wrong. when she says, “i’m so sorry, hunny” instead of, “oh no, you can barely see it – all in your head”, you know you’ve got a serious problem.
the good news is that it did diminish and now is almost gone. but research says will return/continue as long as i’m taking birth control. or pregnant. gulp. let’s hope it’s the birth control that brought it out and not the latter.
double gulp.
and so today, a week after my mustache debut, jackson looks at me as we’re getting ready in the morning and says, “mommy has a mustache!”. funny what those little, incredible minds take in, filter (or not) and then regurgitate.
damn does it feel good to talk about your insecurities. you should try it.
as alice provensen says in the year at maple hill farm, “then again, no horse is perfect”.
she’s right. then again, apparently neither are any of us.
besides, i’m sure if i get huge boobs some day that will offset the direction of any onlooker’s gaze.
bring it on mustaches and hairy nostrils.
