I was finishing up a root canal on a long-time patient of mine yesterday. After my usual post-op speech, I was walking out of the operatory and happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall. I know I’m not going crazy, but I don’t remember having this huge patch of gray hair. It literally looks like someone hit me upside the head with a bag of flour. I’m not kidding. I didn’t look like this last week, I’m sure of it. This is all happening at a supersonic rate and I’m pretty sure who to blame it on — my kids.
I have all girls. That sentence alone should be enough to explain the hair. Trying to keep up with different boys is exhausting. Looking back, I could have avoided all this worry and stress by never potty training them. Think about it: supplying them with diapers for the rest of their lives is a small price to pay if I don’t have to fight off boys. I can’t think of a better deterrent than having to help “change” your date in the middle of a movie. I can just imagine the look on the boy’s face when I hand him a diaper bag and say, “Here, you are going to need this.” I would have never had to worry about finding diapers that fit; they go from stages to pull-ups to Depends. We can even go green and just hire a diaper service that delivers cloth ones! The landfill would appreciate it.
I will admit that the “driving lessons” added a little speckle of white on the old roof top, too. I don’t know how many more times I could have said, “Stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP!”
Perhaps, it’s all part of life: slowly losing your gut lining to the point that prune juice is the only thing that will stay down. I mean, when you think of girls, you think of “sugar and spice and everything nice.” To be honest, it has been nice. I wouldn’t change having my girls for anything. There are a wide range of emotions I have gone through (and still go through); from “beaming with pride” to “what have I done wrong?” Even though they are totally different, they each add to my gray in their own lovely little way.