Phalacrophobia

I learned a new word tonight: phalacrophobia. It means something along the lines of an excessive fear of going bald.

Whatever it is, Andrew has it. I'm not sure where this newest obsession came from--possibly his Poppy's shining pate. At any rate, Andrew has had several conversations with his Poppy about going bald, trying to figure out what causes it and how he can avoid it. Why he's so worried about it, I don't know--that kid has thicker hair than most people I know. And his Poppy aside, his genetics don't really suggest the need to fear going bald, particularly not imminently (both of my grandfathers still had hair when they died; my dad also still has a fairly full head of hair).

Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with going bald: some men look quite distinguished that way. And I don't mean to make fun of the very real anxiety that some men (particularly young men) feel when they begin to lose their hair. But there's something inexpressibly comic about a four-year-old with no signs of hair loss obsessing about someday losing his hair.

Because Andrew is my son, he worries. And because he is my son, he's also an easy target. The combination of these two has proven almost irresistible for his dad and his Poppy, who have been teasing him mercilessly about his newest phobia.

I have to admit that some of the teasing is pretty funny. For instance, today Poppy, Dan, and Bubby among them managed to convince Andrew that the best way to avoid baldness is to take naps and have quiet time religiously. The protective mom part of me wonders if I should tell Andrew that they're just teasing me: but mostly, I'm secretly hoping for a really good week of naps . . .