I have a unique talent: not only can I wiggle my ears and curl my tongue, but I can also grow a beard. Yes, you read that right! And before you ask, no, I’m not a man.
It’s a strange twist of fate — somewhere, there’s a teenage boy dreaming of facial hair while I’m here dealing with an unwelcome surprise: a she-beard. I never expected to find myself in this situation, especially since I’ve always been a relatively hairless woman. My fuzz level was just about average, confined to usual areas, without any furry shoulders or rogue hair sprouting from my toes. I’ve never even had to deal with a mustache, as I’m diligent about keeping my upper lip waxed. But then, pregnancy happened, and my hormones (or should I say hair-mones) took control, leading to the emergence of my unexpected goatee.
This surprise transformation went unnoticed until my third trimester, which means either my beard appeared overnight or I was blissfully unaware of my new facial accessory for longer than I’d like to admit. Regardless, the moment I felt the stubble on my chin, it became a daily source of frustration. And with each pregnancy (I have four kids now), my beard has grown thicker and more prominent.
Nothing quite stings the ego like sporting a feature typically associated with men. What’s attractive on one gender can be a source of discomfort for the other. No artist has ever painted a portrait of a woman and thought, “Let’s add a beard to enhance her femininity.” To protect my dwindling girlishness, I’ve resorted to various methods of hair removal — waxing, shaving, plucking, and even using depilatory creams that could clear a room.
I’d consider electrolysis, but it’s costly, and my budget prioritizes my kids’ school shoes and healthy meals over my facial hair. I have to stay on top of this situation, or I risk my chin resembling a coarse, unkempt mess. I often joke about my fear of falling into a coma, not because of the usual concerns but because I worry nobody will manage my beard while I’m incapacitated. Can you imagine waking up from a coma with an unruly she-beard?
I sometimes fantasize about beards becoming fashionable for women as they have for hipster men and lumberjacks. After all, it worked for Abraham Lincoln and ZZ Top! Women have boldly embraced trends like shaved heads and bold eyebrows; why not a she-beard? I dream of the day I can proudly flaunt my facial hair, maybe even accessorized with some bling, and be at the forefront of a new fashion movement. Or perhaps I could grow it long enough to create a whimsical updo, merging it with my head hair.
But for now, I’ll continue battling this hairy situation until I either pass away or reach a point where I don’t care anymore — whichever comes first. At least, since it’s all a result of motherhood, it gives me an excellent tool for guilt trips. I can already envision the moment when one of my sons hesitates to kiss me goodbye, and I’ll shout after him, “Remember, I grew this beard because of you!”
Always look for the silver linings, right?
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Summary:
Growing a she-beard was an unexpected surprise for me, triggered by the hormonal changes of pregnancy, and it has become a source of daily struggle. Despite the challenges, I embrace the humor and guilt trips that come along with it, all while dreaming of a day when beards for women might be in vogue.