After clumps of hair started coming out each time Zoe shampooed, I knew that something was wrong. We went to visit our family doc, who tells me she has a type of alopecia. Zoe will probably lose about 90% of her hair, but in six months or so she'll start growing it back.
Needless to say, I've been ruminating on why (that answer will come with our blood test results next week), as well as the meaning of hair in general. Why am I so devastated for her?
If you were a caricature artist drawing a picture of my family, you'd draw me with a big nose, my husband with a bald head, my son with ears that stick out like a car with both doors open, and Zoe with really big hair. Her hair is her most salient feature, the curly mop I've been so vain about since she was born. My own hair is thin and fine, soft but insubstantial, but Zoe's hair is a wild and sensuous. It is part of our bond as mother and daughter, and I am responsible for washing it, putting it up, getting it cut, and stroking it when she's sick or can't sleep. I know that of all the things that could go wrong with a child's health, this is not the worst. And yet.
