Chapter 28 – Haircut

"It's called trichotillomania," Carlisle says, combing through Noah's hair and examining his scalp under the bright bathroom lights. "It's an impulse control disorder, where people who have the condition feel a compulsive urge to pull out their own hair."

Noah, sitting on the counter and trying to listen to his own heart with Carlisle's stethoscope, looks up in sudden terror. "Am I sick? Am I going to die like Mommy?"

"No," Carlisle says firmly, taking his stethoscope out of Noah's ears and kissing his forehead. "You are not sick, and you are most definitely not going to die." He tilts Noah's head slightly and parts his hair, angling the hand mirror so he can see the reflection of his head in the cabinet mirror behind him. "You're just missing some hair…can you see that?"

Noah reaches up and tentatively touches his head. "Oh…" His lower lip trembles. "Will it ever come back?"

Carlisle rubs a gentle fingertip over one of the naked patches of Noah's scalp. "It should all grow back if you give it time; I can already feel little fuzzy hairs coming in. Now here's my stethoscope again, so you can listen to your heart and your rumbling belly."

I frown. "So it's not really serious then?"

Carlisle straightens up and says quietly to me, "His hair will grow back. Repeated pulling can damage the hair follicles and affect regrowth, but this is a very new thing for Noah and I don't think we're at that point. There's no irritation or infection in the skin. The psychological impact can be worse than the physical – we want to stop Noah doing this, but we need to be careful not to make him feel shamed or anxious about it…any more than he might already."

"How do I do that?" I clear my throat. "I don't think he even realises he's doing it half the time."

"I looked it up," Angela speaks up from the doorway. "Distraction and redirection? Remind him not to if we see him pulling and maybe give him something else to twiddle with instead of his hair? Cut it short?"

Carlisle smiles at her. "All of that sounds good. Probably the most important thing we can do is continue to work on his anxiety levels the way we're already doing, with the counsellor at school and maintaining a supportive environment here at home."

"You think I should cut his hair?" I'm relieved that my voice stays steady, despite the twisting in my gut. He has the same hair as Rosalie.

"I'd think about it." Carlisle strokes Noah's head. "It's not always the first step, a lot of people are reluctant to lose what hair they have left and don't want to draw attention to their problem, but Noah's a little boy and short hair isn't going to inspire any questions. Using the clippers will stop him from being able to pull it out unconsciously, and we might be able to break the habit." He glances at me. "But only if it's what you and Noah want to do. We can always keep it as an option for later."

I nod, and gently take the stethoscope out of Noah's ears. "Okay buddy, we need to talk about this. You have to stop pulling your hair out, yeah? No one's mad at you," I go on quickly. "We know you don't mean to do it, and it's not really a big deal. But we want you to stop."

"I promise I'll try," Noah says, a little doubtfully. "But sometimes I really don't even know that I'm doing it until my fingers are all twisted up with hair."

"We can all help you to remember," Carlisle says. "Daddy and Angela can remind you when you're at home, and we can talk to your teacher so he can help you remember at school too. Would that be okay?"

"And we can cut your hair," I say. "Use the clippers so that it's really short, too short to wind around your fingers and pull out that way…but only if you want to."

Noah reflexively curls his finger into his hair, and then yanks it free with a guilty look. "I don't mind getting my hair cut," he says cautiously. "But what if it looks stupid? What if everyone laughs at me for having a dumb haircut?"

"No one will laugh at you – it'll look great." I reach into the cupboard under the sink and dig out the box holding the set of clippers. "I used to shave my head for a while when you were a baby. It was good, I never had to brush my hair and I saved loads of money on shampoo. Not mention I looked wicked cool." I grin at Noah and plug the clippers in. "Want me to show you? You can shave my head and then I'll do yours, so we match. No one's going to be laughing at the two of us."

Noah giggles and nods eagerly, and I switch on the blades and shave a random stripe across my head. Sorry Rosalie. She hadn't liked my shaved head, said it made me look like I'd just escaped from prison, and eventually I'd given it up for the joys of having her hands in my hair during sex. But that's not an issue now, and I push the thoughts away and run the clippers down the other side of my head. "Like this?"

"No! You look like Krusty the Clown!" Noah laughs hysterically.

"Okay, okay, I don't want that…help me even it up."

Noah does his best, and then Carlisle steps in and tidies everything up and when we're done my curls are on the floor and I'm left with an eighth of an inch of stubble covering my head. And Rosalie was right – I do look like I belong in a jail cell. But Noah's laughing and clamouring for his turn, and then his fair hair drifts down to join my dark locks on the tiles as I run the clippers carefully over his head.

I don't let him see my face while I do it.

"There," I say at last, smoothing my hand over his shorn head to make sure I haven't missed anything. "All done. And you look awesome."

He looks beautiful, but at six years old he doesn't want to hear that. I'm actually a little taken aback at how different he looks. Noah inherited Rosalie's bone structure and the short haircut emphasises his high cheekbones, heavy-lashed blue eyes and strong jawline. He lost his two top front teeth just after Christmas and the adult teeth that have grown in since then have changed his face. He looks older than I think of him as. When was the last time I really looked at him? Have I been so focussed on my own misery that I've forgotten to pay attention?

Noah twists around to look at himself in the mirror, rubbing his hands over what's left of his hair. "It feels nice. Like a cat," he comments, and then frowns as he catches sight of the bare, uneven growth where he's been pulling it. "You can see the bald parts."

"Yeah, a little bit," I say, unwilling to lie to him. "But I don't think anyone will say anything to you, even if they notice. And since the rest of your hair is so short now, the new hair will grow in and catch up really quick."

"You could wear a hat anyway. I'll lend you my Pokemon beanie if you want." Mac squirms past Angela in the doorway and squints at his brother's head. "Yikes. Did you really make those bald patches yourself? You're gonna look like Grandpa Jack if you don't stop."

I snort and lift Noah down off the counter. "I don't think you have to worry about that just yet! Now get out of here so I can clean up all this hair."

Noah and Mac follow Angela out of the room and Carlisle disappears too, returning with a dustpan and brush a few moments later, as I kneel on the floor and sweep up drifts of hair with my bare hands.

"You did a good thing there," Carlisle says quietly, brushing a hand across my head. "I think cutting his hair was for the best and you made it fun, so well done."

I shrug, throwing handfuls of hair into the trash. "What else am I going to do?" I sigh as I run my hands through my stubble and eye myself in the mirror. "I don't care what I look like. Although I've got to say it's a cold time of year to be almost bald…maybe I'll have to borrow Mac's Pokemon beanie too?"

I drive the kids to school in the morning. Noah's had an attack of shyness over his hair and refuses to take off the Pokemon beanie even in the tub, and I want to explain the situation to his teacher.

Getting to school on time with all the kids is an ordeal though. Diapers, bottles, breakfast, repeat diapers, clean clothes, pigtails, teeth cleaning, finding library books and sneakers and art smocks and homework, packing school bags and diaper bags, and buckling six kids into the van…I'd be tearing my own hair out by the time I'm unloading them all in the school parking lot if it were long enough to grip.

"Good morning Mr Hale-Cullen!" Noah's teacher turns away from writing on the whiteboard and smiles as Noah pushes the classroom door open. Unlike Mac's new graduate teacher, Mr Cohen is so old he was probably teaching kindergarten here when Rosalie and Edward were attending. "Ready for another day of academic adventures, I hope! And you've bought the junior Mr Hale-Cullens with you I see, you feel they're ready to learn their ABCs?"

I don't know about that. Bram makes a beeline for the boxes of markers lined up on a supply trolley and Zeke heads straight for a box of scissors, so I think causing chaos is more on their minds than learning. I quickly step in front of them and distract them by pointing out the lizard tank at the back of the room.

"My brothers are only one year old," Noah tells his teacher seriously. "I don't think they can be in kindergarten yet, because they don't know how to sit still and they can only say about four words. But my dad wants to talk to you." He clings to my hand.

"Of course." Mr Cohen shakes my hand. "We have a little time before the first bell. Shall we take a seat?"

I'm six and a half feet tall – my ass really does not fit on a little plastic kindergarten sized chair. Having a baby strapped to the front of me in a baby carrier doesn't make it any easier. But I perch awkwardly on the seat beside Noah and keep my hands firmly in my lap and my knuckles out of my mouth as his teacher sits across from us and looks at me expectantly.

"We just wanted to talk to you because Noah…uh, you might have noticed, the way he kind of…pulls on his hair? Like when he gets nervous, or sometimes when he's concentrating or bored or not really paying attention to what he's doing?" I wait until his teacher nods before I go on. "We realised yesterday that he's been doing it a bit too much. He's starting to pull the hair out and there are some pretty thin patches."

Mr Cohen nods thoughtfully. "I see."

"We asked my dad about it, since he's a paediatrician. He checked Noah out and said it's fine – I mean, obviously we don't want him to do it, but it's not a disease, or a super unusual thing or anything. It's got a name, what he's doing…but anyway. We're just trying to figure out how to help him stop it."

Noah fiddles uncomfortably with the edge of his beanie. "I don't mean to."

"We know." I rub his shoulder, and look across at his teacher. "We cut his hair last night, so it's too short for him to wind around his fingers. And Noah and I made a deal that he'll try and stop pulling, and I'll remind him if I see him doing it. We wanted to ask if you would do the same thing at school. Not make a big deal out of it, just…remind him."

"Of course I will," Mr Cohen smiles gently at Noah. "Perhaps just a little signal? I could tap you on the shoulder when I'm walking past you if I see you having your fingers in your hair? Or if I'm not close to you I could touch my own hair?" He rubs a hand over his bald head and Noah giggles. "Does that sound like it might work?"

Noah nods. "Maybe." He hesitates for a moment and then draws his beanie off. "My hair is really short now, see? Grandpa and my dad said that might be good because that makes it hard to pull out, even if I'm trying to."

"It's certainly a very handsome look on you," Mr Cohen says gravely. "And hopefully Grandpa and Dad will be right. You probably would prefer not to have my hairdo!" He makes a face and once again Noah laughs.

"Daddy did his hair with the clippers too, so now we're matching…it feels like a cat." He clambers onto my lap, careful not to squash Holly too much, and pets my hair. "See?"

Mr Cohen smiles. "Well, Daddy looks equally handsome. Now Noah, your young brothers look quite intrigued by the bearded dragons in the back there. Would you like to show them how they eat crickets? They might find that rather interesting."

Noah jumps off my lap and eagerly heads towards the twins, who are leaning against the glass enclosure at the back of the room and babbling to the two lizards inside it. He leaves the beanie on the table in front of me and I pick it up, glad to have something to do with my hands that isn't biting on my knuckles. God knows that after everything that's happened I'm getting used to having conferences with the kids' teachers, but I spent too many years as the screw-up student in these situations to find it comfortable now.

"Thanks," I say to his teacher, dropping my voice a little. "It's not too bad really. You can see the bald patches when you're close to him, but they're not huge and because his hair is so fair they don't stand out as much as they might otherwise. And he hasn't been doing it a long time, just since…but of course we want him to stop doing it before it becomes a big problem. So we wanted to let you know what was going on, and ask if you can help us out and also make sure none of the other kids give him a hard time."

"I'm glad you told me, and I'll keep an eye on it. Am I correct in assuming that this is related to his anxiety? I've been aware for some time that Noah is a very anxious child; I was pleased when he began seeing Ms Chapman regularly."

I nod. "Yeah, we think so. I mean, it's complicated, there can be a whole lot that goes into this behaviour but with Noah…we want to work on breaking him of what's just habit, and keep on dealing with the anxiety. He's seeing Liz Chapman and I'm trying to…we're just trying to keep it all going," I finish a little lamely.

"Ms Chapman is an excellent counsellor; Noah is in very good hands with her," Mr Cohen says. "She and I have discussed several strategies for helping children deal with anxiety, and I've begun using a meditation and calm app specifically for children in the classroom too. Not solely for Noah of course, everyone benefits when attention is paid to mental health, but he was one of the students I had in mind when I implemented it. It's a simple meditation aimed at young children that teaches them some body awareness and relaxation skills. The children are really responding well, they enjoy it a lot and it's having a good effect on the general classroom environment. I can give you the name of it and you can download it at home too, it might be something you find useful."

"That sounds good. I really don't like…he worries way too much for a little kid," I say.

Mr Cohen looks over at Noah, feeding crickets to the two bearded dragons in front of a fascinated Bram and Zeke, and smiles. "Anxiety is not uncommon in highly intelligent and sensitive children like Noah. Your son is an extremely bright child Mr Cullen. He learns quickly, and he is capable of a level of complex and abstract thought that's very unusual for his age."

"He takes after his mom," I say, horrified to hear my voice crack. "She is…was…the one with brains."

"If she was anything like Noah, she must have been very special." Mr Cohen tactfully doesn't look at me as I drop my face and breathe in the sweet scent of Holly's hair to centre myself. "Noah is certainly exceptional, and he's been an absolute pleasure to teach this year. I know you've been having a very difficult time of it, but when it comes to your children Mr Cullen, you have also been doing a very good job and you should be proud."