A lot of Gray Area

So this is me, every single day:

**”Why does gray hair happen?  Gray or white is the base color of everyone’s hair.  There are pigment cells at the base of each hair follicle that produce the natural dominant color of our youth.  Usually around middle age or older, more and more of those pigment cells die and color is lost from individual hairs.”

                                                                  from the back of the generic raisin bran cereal box I read this morning

I don’t have good genes when it comes to the gray hair situation.  Family lore is that my paternal grandma had a gray streak in her hair when she was 17.  Uncle Jim was been totally blonde gray since I can remember (probably his 30s?) and my dad wasn’t far behind.

However, I am an eternal optimist.  I seriously thought I wouldn’t get the wrinkles heritage that comes from being Irish, English and Danish, the Munk hips, or my mom’s bad eyes.  So I, of course, was completely surprised and irritated when the first gray hair started appearing around 27.

I remember discussing this with Adrianne at the time.  She, too, was shocked at my gray hair appearances:  “Seriously?  You’re so young!  I don’t have any.”  And then I remembered that she is blonde (read: can’t see the gray hair, more frequent dye-ing) and called Tammy (a fellow brunette) who nicely confirmed that she was getting some, too.

And you know what makes it worse?

Kids.

My hair grows all lovely and thick while I’m gestating them and then, at about 3 months, it all falls out.  All over said baby (she deserves it), all over the shower, all over my clothes.  Gross.

And you know what grows in?

Yep.  White, wiry, granny hair. 

I hate it.  I really can’t think of an aging thing I like less (except, maybe this tortoise-like metabolism).  Wrinkles? Not that big of a deal.  Sagging stuff?  Can be hidden and pushed up.  Varicose veins?  Can’t see them on the back of calf anyway.

But gray hair really really really makes me feel old.  It’s like I can envision the 70 year old staring back at me. 

I like the wisdom that that 70 year old has.  I like the experiences she’s gained.  I like that she’s done potty-training.

I really don’t like her hair.