Ch-ch-changes

My hair is falling out. I feel the need to share this so that friends and family who have not seen me for a while will understand why I am disturbingly starting to resemble Sinead O'Connor. And it's literally everywhere - the drain, my clothes, Whit's clothes, my pillow, the floor, the kitchen counter, my car, my desk at work...basically it is everywhere but on my head. So I'm a reasonable person, and have appreciated the propagatory significance behind most bodily changes that have gone on for the past year. But this one I have to say simply does not compute. Did ancient women use the discarded hair to knit baby blankets, or to stuff the fur from their kill to make stuffed animals? I think not. Did they need a way to feel less attractive after their belly deflated, leaving them with a gelatinous wrinkly pouch? Again, I think not. And finally, did their hair deposits function like a dog peeing on every tree on the perimeter of their yard, proclaiming their territory for their offspring? No! Alas, this battle cry for mothers will lead nowhere, and so as I sit here typing, another glorious brown lock falls before me. Goodbye my friend. Thank you for curling up for my wedding, for protecting me from the scorching sun in the summer, and for covering my ears in the midwestern winter.