I possess a range of quirky talents: I can wiggle my ears, flare my nostrils, curl my tongue, and raise a single eyebrow. Oh, and I can also grow a beard.
Why is this noteworthy? Well, let’s just say I’m not a man.
The situation seems a bit unfair when you think about it. Somewhere out there, a teenage boy is likely desperate to sprout facial hair, while here I am, an unwilling woman sporting a full set of stubble.
I would characterize my she-beard as an unexpected development. However, the word “unexpected” usually connotes something pleasant—like a surprise gift—while my beard was anything but delightful. I certainly didn’t foresee it, considering I’m female and, by nature, not particularly hairy. My fuzziness was pretty standard: the typical amount of hair in the usual places, without any furry shoulders or wild toe hair. Until I became pregnant with my first child, I had never even dealt with a mustache (though I do keep my upper lip waxed just in case).
During my third trimester, I made a shocking discovery: I had developed a goatee. This could mean one of two things: either it appeared overnight like a beard explosion, or I had been walking around unaware of my new facial growth for an undisclosed period. Regardless, the moment my fingers brushed against the stubble on my chin, I was hit with a wave of dismay. And the worst part? Each subsequent pregnancy has caused my beard to grow more robust. I have four kids now. You see the dilemma.
Nothing crushes one’s vanity like sporting a feature often attributed to the opposite sex. What’s considered attractive on one gender can seem decidedly less appealing on another (and let’s not even talk about man boobs). There’s never been an artist who painted a woman and thought, “She could really use a beard.” To protect my dwindling femininity, I find myself battling this manly chin-forest daily.
The struggle has involved various methods of hair removal: waxing, shaving, plucking, and applying depilatory creams so strong that they made my neighbor’s eyes water. I’ve considered electrolysis, but it’s costly, and my kids need school shoes and healthy meals more than I need a permanently bald chin.
I must stay vigilant; if I don’t, the consequences are dire. Skip a few days of shaving, and my chin resembles a neglected armpit, feeling like coarse sandpaper—definitely not sexy. I have a unique fear of one day ending up in a coma, not for the usual reasons. Instead, I worry that while I’m incapacitated, no one will take care of my chin. So not only will I be in a coma, but I’ll be sporting a beard. Nightmarish, isn’t it?
I dream of a world where beards become trendy for women, just as they have for hipster men and lumberjacks. After all, if it worked for legends like Abraham Lincoln and ZZ Top, why not me? Women have done daring things like shave their heads, and Brooke Shields’s bold eyebrows gained a following. Is a she-beard really that outrageous? I envision a day when I can confidently step out—perhaps with my beard styled or even adorned with crystals—and be celebrated as a fashion icon. Or maybe I could grow it long enough to blend with my head hair into a Pinterest-worthy updo.
More realistically, I’ll continue to wrestle with it until I either pass away or stop caring—whichever comes first. At least, since my she-beard is a direct result of motherhood, it serves as a tool for guilt trips. I can’t wait for the day one of my sons is embarrassed to kiss me goodbye, allowing me to shout after him, “Fine, but remember… I grew this beard because of you!”
You have to find the silver linings in life, right?
For more insights into family planning and the journey to parenthood, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy. If you’re interested in learning more about couples undergoing fertility treatments, read about their experiences here.
Summary:
This humorous narrative follows Jessica Lark as she navigates the unexpected challenge of growing a beard during her pregnancies. She reflects on her struggle with vanity, societal standards of beauty, and the humorous silver linings that come with motherhood. Ultimately, she embraces the absurdity of her situation while reminding readers to find humor in their own challenges.