As I step out of the shower, I am taken aback by the image that greets me in the mirror. Typically, the reflection I see is that of a small child, no taller than three feet, brandishing some snack as I stand there, water dripping onto the tiles. But today, the sight is even more jarring. The mirror is foggy, yet my reflection is startlingly clear. Who is that staring back at me? Here I am, just three weeks shy of my 39th birthday, and I can’t help but wonder who came up with the notion that “39 is the new 29.” My hunch is it was some elderly gentleman, probably in his 70s.
I can vividly recall my 29th year. Back then, my body felt different—my breasts didn’t seem to be in a constant battle for space. I certainly never had to lift them to apply deodorant. With a deep breath, I move closer to the mirror and wipe the condensation away, only to discover fine hairs on my face. Why on earth do I need to pluck my face? I wish I could just be a chicken; I’m pretty sure they stay smooth after being plucked. I’ll have to remember to look that up later—perhaps I should jot that down on a Post-It note. Actually, I’ll just use some toilet paper and mascara.
One, two, three… five chin hairs. Great! I might wake up tomorrow looking like a hermit. And what about these strange black hairs? That doesn’t make any sense. Then there’s the gray hair that seems to have appeared overnight. I swear I went to bed with my usual blonde locks and woke up to this.
And let’s not even discuss the lines on my face. I’ve always been diligent with sunscreen, but here I am with these creases. Perhaps it’s all the smiling I’ve done. Why was I so happy? Oh, right—now I remember why I’m laughing: it’s only going to create more lines.
Now, let’s take a look at my stomach. What happened here? Oh, right. Two pregnancies, 8 lbs. 6 oz. and 8 lbs. 10 oz. each. They were worth every bit of it, but what type of bathing suit am I going to wear this summer? My options consist of something that barely covers anything or a full-on bear costume. Who designs these swimsuits? I bet they’re all men in their 70s. They say comfort is key, but have you seen the styles young women are wearing? They look like they have a permanent wedgie.
I should probably do some research on bathing suits suitable for almost 40-year-old moms. I’m sure I’ll find the dancing bear costume in my search results.
Ugh, I’m exhausted. Why am I so tired?
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you almost done? We want a snack and need help with a 600-piece puzzle. Oh, and we accidentally overflowed the sink. The dog is lying in the water.”
Right. Time to face reality. I love my eyes, though. They’ve witnessed the births of my children and the beauty of life itself. So what if I don’t look 29? My 39th year promises to be full of new adventures.
“Mommy, look! We drew a rainbow on the wall with our new markers.”
“I see it, honey. I’m looking right at it.” Ugh.
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