Earlier today, I found myself looking in the mirror as I washed my hands. All I could see were the many new lines engraved across my face. Lines that weren’t there before my daughter was born, or, at least, not as noticeably. Not as many. Lines that, I suppose, tell the story of my last five months.
Less sleep, sure. More worries, definitely. But I noticed in particular the lines seemed to map the shape of my face when I smile really big. Those excited, take-up-your-whole-face smiles — the ones that are more exaggerated than the polite ones you offer up on Zoom meetings or with the barista at your local coffee shop.
And my first thought — my literal, instinctive reaction — seeing myself in the mirror was to say “geez, you need to stop smiling so much.”
Uh, what?
The mental whiplash happened immediately, and I realized how dumb (and okay, maybe shallow?) that thought was. Obviously if I have been smiling a lot, I’m probably happy. How lucky am I then to have someone I love enough to smile that big, that often, that the joy has decided to permanently etch itself into my skin? A souvenir of being around one of my very favorite people, my tiny bestie… even though it’s something society will tell me to hide, to fix, to correct, to cover. To treat with retinol, botox, filler, concealer, etc. etc. etc. Product upon product that will promise to erase any memory of a reaction, or a life lived. This isn’t a post to rage against the beauty industry, though, and if you use all of those things, good for you. I have a Sephora account with the receipts to prove I am certainly not unbothered by the anti-aging machine.
I’d love to tell you that that moment earlier today was some great awakening for me, or how I’m now unfazed by these lines taking up residence around my face, but that’s definitely not true. They do still bother me, I am still a human, and I also stare at myself on a screen every day at work for an unnecessary amount of time. But I am trying to care a teensy bit less about all of that. About the way I’m aging, aesthetically speaking, and to try and focus more on the fact that I have the opportunity to age at all. To change the narrative in my head, and recognize that any wrinkle is proof that I’m still here, making new memories. That those laugh lines are signs of victory and growth.
One of the things that used to scare me about having kids was the idea that, being someone with a chronic illness and all, I might not have the opportunity to be around for *all* of my daughter’s life… because, you know, you just never know. And then I got pregnant and I still worried about that, plus the reality that I was having her later in life than the average person (if we care about averages). I cried preemptively about both of those things, about the what-ifs, about being too old to be a new mom, even though really, no one knows what will happen from one day to the next. That’s regardless of your health status or your age or anything. I mean, I should know that better than most people. My mom, whose birthday is in a couple of days, passed away when I was still in my early 30s, completely unexpectedly. And I still worry about all of that, but at least I’m here with my baby now, even with my wrinkles.
I found myself telling my daughter, while putting her down for a nap an hour or so ago, not to worry, because mommy would be there when she woke up — today and always. Instantly, I thought of my own mom, who used to say something very similar. It slipped out of my mouth before I could remind myself that that’s not a promise I should make; it was something I clung to when my mom died, because she couldn’t have passed — she told me she’d be here with me forever, didn’t she? But you know, it seemed to make my daughter feel better in that moment, feel more at peace with staying in her room alone for a nap. And really, it made me feel better too.
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I sat down today to write something completelyyyyy different, but here we are! And my daughter looks to be about ready to get up from her nap, so you’ll have to try and ignore any typos or other issues I left because I’m out of time to proofread. (Good luck, because Lord knows I can never ignore them when the shoe’s on the other foot.)
As always, thank you for being here. xo
Thanks for reading,
Joelle
I’m definitely guilty of getting carried away with “what ifs”. Having kids has certainly heightened some of those worries, but then I have to shake myself and remind myself to stay in the moment and enjoy it. Good to see your words on the page!
What a great reminder to be thankful and grateful for what we do have. Thanks Joelle!