Your cart is currently empty!
The Woman in the Reflection
As I step out of the shower, I’m taken aback by the figure looking back at me. Normally, the mirror showcases a tiny person, just about 3 feet tall, waving snacks in my direction while I try to dry off on the cool tiles. But today, this reflection is something else entirely. The mirror’s a bit foggy, but my reflection is crystal clear. Who is that? Here I am, just three weeks shy of my 39th birthday, and all I can think is—who was the genius that said “39 is the new 29”? I’m betting it was some guy in his late 70s. For sure.
I clearly remember being 29. Back then, my body didn’t look like it was in a heated debate with itself. My breasts didn’t require shifting to apply deodorant. With a deep breath, I lean in closer to the mirror and wipe away the steam. Hold up—what’s this? Hair on my face? Why do I suddenly need to pluck my facial hair? Sometimes I wish I were a chicken. Yes, a chicken. They stay smooth after losing their feathers, right? I’ll have to look that up later. Maybe I should jot it down on a Post-It. Ugh, I really need to keep some of those in the bathroom. I’ll just write it on toilet paper with my mascara.
Okay, let’s count. One, two, three…five chin hairs. Great, I might wake up tomorrow looking like a hermit. “In sickness and in health”? How about when your wife wakes up with a full beard for no good reason? Seriously, one of these hairs is jet black, which makes no sense at all. I guess I’ll just pluck them and move on. And what is this? Grey hair? I swear I went to bed as a blonde and now I’m sporting gray? Seriously, I can’t even.
And these lines! I pull my face back, let it go, pull it again, and let it go. I’m Irish, for crying out loud! I grew up slathering on sunscreen like I was a walking buttered roll. I was the palest kid around, and somehow I’ve got wrinkles? Must be all that smiling. Why was I so happy? What’s with the laughter? Stop it—more lines are forming!
Oh, and then I glance at my stomach and the giggles stop. What happened there? Oh right, two babies—8 lbs. 6 oz. and 8 lbs. 10 oz. Totally worth it. But seriously, what kind of swimsuit can I wear this summer? My options are either one that barely covers anything or a dancing bear costume. Who designs these things? Definitely men in their 70s. I know they say to wear what you’re comfortable in, but these new suits that look like permanent wedgies? Not comfy at all. I should research swimsuits for near-40 moms. Bet the dancing bear suit will pop up.
Ugh, I’m so exhausted. Why am I so tired?
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you almost done in there? We want a snack and need help with a 600-piece puzzle. Oh, and we kinda overflowed the sink in the kitchen. The dog is lying in the water.”
Right. Time to face the day. I do love my eyes; they’ve witnessed the births of my children and all the joys of life. So what if I don’t look 29? Thirty-nine is going to be fabulous! It will be filled with new adventures.
“Mommy, look! We drew a rainbow on the wall with our new markers.”
“Mommy sees that, sweetie. I’m looking right at it.” Ugh.