I'd have to wear a wig though. (Can you imagine how unpleasant that must be in this heat?) Because my hairline is receding so far it's not so much a widow's peak as a new mother's M-shape.
When my hair is back, if I tuck a loose middle bit behind my ear, you can actually see a small triangle of scalp behind that strand.
I worry because hair loss runs in my family, on the female side. But I think that a similar thing happened after I had Logie too, and some of it grew back, a bit. I have a vague memory of pointing out some baby-hair-type regrowth with relief.
Since then I've moved hairdressers, so I can't ask the current one what she remembers - and she's far too nice to say it was a problem anyway. She gave it a really good cut a few weeks ago, quite a good bit off, looked like there was a dead cat on the floor afterwards, and NO ONE has noticed.
That's probably because I always used to wear my hair up in a messy ponytail, regardless of whether it was newly cut, or clean. Because I hated the sensation of it on the back of my neck, when I was hot, or was rolling my sleeves up to tackle some laundry, or found myself stuck for small talk. Any excuse. But I've got the fear about something called traction alopecia, even though only people who have Croydon facelifts every day really have to worry about that.
But such is my concern that I've worn it down, determinedly, every day since then. Yes, even in this heat. Even at Felix's christening, when I was waltzing about at the side of the cricket pitch afterwards in 30 degrees, or hurtling down the bouncy castle obstacle course slide in an undignified manner.
It's been quite a challenge for me, as my compulsion to put my hair up is so automatic that I've had to break the habit by not ever having a hairtie on my wrist or in my bag. Which is jolly annoying. Especially when you're about to go swimming (the pool and the bath don't count).
Another addiction that I've been keeping secret for some time involves my nose. I am a nose spray junkie.
The thing is, I simply can't bear having a blocked up nose. It drives me mad. I feel like I can't do anything - eat, type, be nice to my children - if I can't breathe through my nose properly. Or sleep. Especially sleep. It's a bit like when I've taken my lenses out, or am wearing a pair of glasses that's the wrong prescription; if I can't see properly, I feel like I can't hear either.
There's always an excuse for it - a cold, pregnancy rhinitis, hayfever - but for a long time now I've been using those very strong nose sprays you can buy over the counter. Despite being fully aware that the more you use them, the more you bugger up your nose, and the more you need them. But like every good addict, I can't stop. I am dependent on it, even though I know it's part of the problem.
However, my hayfever has been dreadful this year. Lots of people are saying that, and some friends are experiencing it for the first time. My nose has been out of control with itching and congestion, I had to leave our summer party with our neighbours early because I couldn't stop sneezing, and sometimes even my eyes go too.
Added to which, I had a small sore patch inside one of my nostrils, obviously from my substance abuse. So I thought it was finally time to go to the GP and fess up.
You know when you have those sort of sad, dramatic fantasies about how something is going to turn out? They're usually confined to one's teenage years, but I have a penchant. Well, I had this idea that she was going to castigate me and send me to some specialist where the waiting room was full of cocaine enthusiasts, with collapsing noses.
Instead, she mildly pointed out that I shouldn't keep using it, said my nose was fine, and prescribed me over-the-counter hayfever pills (ceterizine, available to buy as Piriteze) and Beconase, an aqueous nasal spray for allergies. Actually she also wrote up a prescription for eyedrops as well, but when I questioned whether I could use them because I wear contact lenses she was quite taken aback, and said that no one had ever asked her about that in her whole career. Check with the pharmacist, she advised - who confirmed it was no go.
I was relieved to have her establish that there are no known harmful effects from taking hayfever pills when you're breastfeeding, because I had been taking the odd one, but was annoyed with myself for telling the truth about Beconase. She explained that you have to use it twice a day, for two weeks, for it to have any effect. As I've tried it half-heartedly a couple of times, with no joy, I thought afterwards that I should've lied and gone for the next thing up, which would've been a steroid nasal spray.
But what do you know? I've been using it now for almost two weeks, and my nose is noticeably better than it was. I still use the strong stuff (Sudafed Mucus Relief is my current fix) occasionally, but I need it much less often.
This could in part be down to the other remedy I've been trying recently - local honey. That's the thing apparently, if it's been made by bees pollenating the precise plantlife that's causing your reaction. The catch is that it's been a very bad year for bees, too cold and wet (remember that weather?), so most small-scale beekeepers don't have much surplus. But I have laid my hands on some Ealing honey, from just a couple of miles away, and very delicious it is too in my morning coffee.
So my secret, guilty fantasy has turned out to be a damp squib. But another fantasy, of a much more wholesome and entirely fabulous kind, is alive and kicking, and I'm going to inspect it on Thursday.
A place called the Mermaid Maternity Retreat is opening this week, and I've written about it for a magazine coming out next month. It's basically the last word in luxury, and sensible treatments, for new mums and their babies.
It's the brainchild of Nick Balfour, father of four daughters (can you imagine? I can't) who got sick of shuttling all over London to see various random 'experts' recommended by friends, to try and sort out whatever thing that particular baby or childbirth experience was inflicting on them - a feeding expert here, a cranio person there, etc. You know the drill.
It's had a bit of bad press recently, and very unfairly in my view. Either you think it's a travesty that the NHS doesn't provide all this stuff as standard, or you think it's a flawed concept, but you can't have it both ways. Yes, it's expensive, but having forked out a fair amount after both my babies and clocked up many miles in the car, there is a logic to it. Especially if you can be sure that the people you're seeing are top of their fields.
Felix and I have been treated by their osteopath, I've had some reflexology, and I can vouch for both.
Some of the packages are actually quite good value - for example, for £200 you get two home visits from a feeding expert and can attend unlimited drop-in clinics. I spent £130 to see my breastfeeding expert in her home, half an hour away, and it was worth every penny.
But here's my secret fantasty about it: the idea of escaping to a plush bedroom, with a 24-hour nursery, an osteopath, feeding expert, reflexologist, paediatric osteopath and masseuse on hand, when Felix was, say, eight weeks old, I was going mad with sleep deprivation, Logie was throwing major tantrums, my back was killing me and I was totally at my wits' end...that prospect is so heavenly that I'm thinking of putting Felix (five months tomorrow) back in, so that I can go and stay there.
Felix at his christening. (No, that's not my newly-let-down hair - that's my fat, wrinkly FACE.)
No comments:
Post a Comment