As I step out of the shower, I am taken aback by the image looking back at me. Normally, the reflection is that of a small child, no taller than three feet, eagerly waving some snack before me while I try to dry off. But today, it’s a more daunting sight. The mirror fogs slightly, yet the figure within remains clear. Who is this person? Just three weeks away from my 39th birthday, I can’t help but wonder who propagated the myth that 39 is the new 29—my guess is it was a man in his late 70s.
I remember my 29th year vividly. At that time, my body felt youthful, and I certainly didn’t have to reposition my breasts just to apply deodorant. With a deep breath, I lean in closer to clear the steam, only to be horrified by the sight of facial hair. Plucking my face? Seriously? I almost wish I were a chicken—at least they’d remain smooth after their feathers are removed. I need to remember to look that up later, maybe jot it down on a Post-It note. In fact, I should keep some in the bathroom. I’ll just have to write it on toilet paper with my mascara.
Okay, one, two, three, four, five chin hairs. At this rate, I might wake up tomorrow resembling a hermit. In sickness and in health? How about a wife who wakes up with an unexpected beard? And what’s this? A jet-black hair among the others? I should probably Google that too, but for now, let’s just deal with it and pluck those out. Oh, and wait—what’s this gray hair? I could have sworn I went to bed with my blonde locks intact.
And then there are the lines on my face. I pull my skin back, then release. I grew up slathering on sunscreen like it was my second skin; how did I end up with these wrinkles? Perhaps it’s all the smiling I did—why was I so happy, anyway? Laughter might just be the culprit; I can almost hear the lines forming as I chuckle at my reflection.
Oh, but then my gaze shifts to my stomach, and the laughter halts. What on earth happened here? Right, two beautiful babies—8 lbs. 6 oz. and 8 lbs. 10 oz. Now the question is, what type of bathing suit will I wear this summer? My options seem to be either one that barely covers anything or a ridiculous dancing bear costume. Who designs these swimsuits? I bet they’re all men in their 70s. They say comfort is key, but the current styles that resemble a permanent wedgie are the farthest thing from comfortable. I’ll need to research swimsuits suitable for almost 40-year-old mothers—I wouldn’t be surprised if a dancing bear costume pops up in my search results.
I’m exhausted. Why am I so tired?
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you almost done? We’re hungry and need help with a 600-piece puzzle. Oh, we might have accidentally overflowed the kitchen sink. The dog is lying in the water.”
Right. Time to face the reality outside of this bathroom. I do cherish my eyes—they’ve witnessed the births of my children and the beauty of life itself. So what if I don’t look 29? Turning 39 is going to be a thrilling adventure full of new experiences.
“Mommy, look! We drew a rainbow on the wall with our new markers.”
“I see that, sweetheart. I’m looking right at it.” Ugh.
In Summary
Embracing aging can be challenging, especially when faced with unexpected physical changes. However, it’s essential to appreciate the beauty of life experiences and the joy of motherhood. For those seeking guidance on family planning and home insemination, resources like Resolve can provide valuable information. And for those interested in home insemination products, check out BabyMaker or the At-Home Intracervical Insemination Kit for more options.
Keyphrase: aging and motherhood
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