Tonight something innocent happened and my own reaction is troubling.
When going down for a nap, Drake reached up and tugged on the hair in my armpit. He thought this was funny. I was appalled. It’s not a forest in there, really just a bit of fuzz from my last shave last week. The question is, why was I appalled? Also, why does it matter to me how much hair is under my arm?
Hair is natural. It grows where it will and has distinct biological uses. If I recall correctly from my school days, hair under the arms is intended to trap pheromones and increase the odds of attracting a mate. So, technically a bit of fuzz should increase attractiveness, albeit on a subconscious and purely physical level.
Despite knowing this and usually having zero issues with my sometimes lazy shaving habits (and having lived very close to Berkeley), I was still embarrassed. So, what’s that say about me? Apparently I’ve bought into the stereotypes about gender and attraction from mainstream media. The idea that women should be hairless dolls is one I’ve always found offensive, but apparently I did buy into it on some level… Ugh.
In the long run is this really a big deal? No, it isn’t. However, it is a reality check. I don’t want to raise my baby boy with an unrealistic view of women. That needs to start with me.
So, next time he grabs under my arm and encounters a bit of fuzz or even a forest, I think I will try to giggle along with him. To heck with you unrealistic ideals. I’m a woman and I have to keep my razor away from the tub so my kid doesn’t cut himself in the bath. Shaving daily just isn’t an option. I’m going to keep rocking that fuzz and sending all those pheromones in the hubby’s direction. So suck it.