Hair comfort

Naptime in our house since the advent of Owen has been surprisingly easy. But that’s only because I surrendered and told nap-resistant Will I’d lie down with him for the beginning of naps and let him play with my hair. Because it’s really my hair that he loves to lie with. I lie facing away from him so he can run his fingers through my hair for a few minutes until he works himself to a cozy, drowsy state and falls asleep. It’s an exclusively naptime treat (do this at night and he’d be up wanting more every hour).

If Owen’s up, I’m either nursing him or letting him suck on the trusty pacifier, which I’m still trying not to overuse, on the other side of me. And behind me lies, Will, eyes closed, fingers moving gently in my hair.

What is it about hair anyway?

I remember watching a friend, back in my pre-mama days, as she lay on the floor of our house, hair stretched out above her head so her 2-year-old son could “play” in it. What a quirky little habit, I thought. Turns out mom’s hair is a universal comfort object. I have a friend in Austin who recently cut up a wig and put some of it in her 19-month-old’s crib to wean him from her hair.

Even when Will can’t get his hands on my hair, he’s taken to twirling his finger in his own hair. One time he got a lock of it so tightly wrapped around his index finger that it started cutting off his circulation. Will was in tears and Rob had to resort to scissors because he’d wrapped that hair so tight it wouldn’t come loose. But that didn’t break the habit.

As I watched Will twirling his hair on the drive back from a dinner out tonight, I asked him why he likes hair.

He looked at me like the answer was obvious: “Cause I love hair SOOO much. And I like to play with it,” he said.

It's not just a tactile thing either. Lately Will has also discovered he enjoys smelling Owen's hair -- what little there is of it. "It smells good," he says.

And I kind of like hair too. Mostly I like to have my own hair played with. I used to ask Rob to run his hands through my hair as part of my pre-labor "relaxation exercises." And now, when I’m lying sandwiched between three-year-old Will and baby Owen for those first several minutes of naptime, with Will’s fingers running through my hair, I feel perfectly content. Unless Will decides to tug too hard.