I wake in a cold sweat, shaking off images of Goldwell, Rusk and Kerastasse, trailed by Lancome, Yonka and Dermalogica. All night, they parade past me like a marching band.
Two more days!
Little C crawls into bed and cuddles up, par for the course at 6:00 am. This morning I have something exciting to show him.
“Look, Mommy’s hair is almost normal,” I whisper in the dim light, our noses close to touching as we lie face to face. I lift a strand of hair to show him.
He looks at me from across the pillow, Blankie curled around his pudgy hand, thumb jammed in his mouth, sucking away. His other chubby palm reaches towards my hair, catching it between thumb and forefinger. He rubs the piece between them. The thumb comes out with a slurp and he declares:
“Your hair feels weird.”
Ookay. Guess that’s that then.
Thing is, I think it’s better. Those no ‘poo people who claimed that in 3-4 weeks my hair would perk up were right. I’ve hardly had to soak up excess oil with cornstarch and can go three days between washes, without looking like a Walking Dead extra. It feels a bit like brushing Barbie hair but it’s doable. I’m seeing my hairdresser Wednesday and, though I can officially use real hair products Monday, I debate waiting just to show my stylist: “Look, who needs expensive shampoo? A little itch and bristle never hurt anyone.”
That said, I might have a mangled version of Stockholm syndrome. I bonded with my baking soda paste shampoo and apple cider vinegar rinse in a really unhealthy way. Like, it’s not sooo bad. Witness all the good it’s done my hair compared to eggs, beer and coconut milk?
Still I can’t ignore that my scalp eventually adjusted to no ‘poo (and stopped the sebum overload). Kind of makes me wonder about the products we use. My hair (sort of) found its own way after a lengthy withdrawal period. My skin reached rock bottom week three but after I eased up on the oils, it’s actually not dry and blemished anymore. A week of a simple Castile Foaming Cleanser, Lavender Sugar Scrub and Aloe Vera Face Moisturizer (better than pure aloe gel, check out the recipe) and my skin is passable. If I had to go on Survivor tomorrow, I could still look half-decent. I have trained for it.
So, can we readjust to almost normal without all the cosmetics and hair products? Has overuse created a need that wouldn’t otherwise be there? Would some of us be fine with or without, and others need that laboratory-developed boost?
My mother-in-law has amazing skin. She only uses Cetaphil soap and water, plus a moisturizer—sometimes. My husband’s feet are smooth, with nary a foot balm. Mine, on the other hand, are like sandpaper when I don’t apply foot cream daily. Though I have to admit even with my less-regular application of the homemade goo (Dr. K says it’s scent-prohibitive to apply daily) my feet are doing ok. Is my dry skin inherited or honed?
Truth is, I don’t know. I am in better shape than I was 10 days ago, but I am definitely not an improved version over 28 days ago. And, I am looking forward to smelling like something other than fish and chips, or cocoa butter. I don’t think I’m jumping on the homemade bandwagon anytime soon. But, I am more likely to tune in and give some recipes a chance.
At least school drop off won’t end up like this anymore:
“Ok guys, see you later,” I say as I pull into the drop-off lane.
“Hey, hey,” I catch them halfway out the van door. “Kiss.”
Eden climbs onto the passenger seat and leans across. She rears back.
“Ew, Mommy, you smell like barf,” she cringes and scoots out. Mason is trying to sneak out the back.
“Mason?” He slowly turns and leans over the seat. I give him my cheek.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he says, giving me a peck that barely makes contact, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and darting away.
Let the music play on!
Next post: After a hair wash and mini-facial (don’t want to crash the system), I will round up what I’ve learned these past 27 days! Keep your eyes out for the last post!