Lately, I’ve been focusing on some unexpected companions that have joined my life. At 39, with two school-aged children, I thought my days of intense caretaking were behind me, aside from the challenges that come with aging parents. I envisioned at least a decade of carefree living, reminiscent of my twenties, with nothing but peaceful nights spent with my husband. But then, everything changed when my daughter depicted my forehead in a drawing, complete with six noticeable lines. I’m officially wrinkled.
Initially, I didn’t recognize what she was illustrating. She’s just five, and while I admire her artistic flair, I thought it was a mere mistake. When she presented her artwork, I praised her color choices and asked about the lines. “What are those?” I smiled, pointing at the wavy marks on the paper. “Your lines,” she replied matter-of-factly, “On your face.” It hit me like a ton of bricks.
My son chimed in, stating, “You can’t really see them when it’s dark.” I was under bright lights at the time, so I moved into a dim hallway. “It has to be darker,” he insisted, as if he already knew about my new features.
That night, I tried to radiate youthful energy during our bedtime rituals. I skipped down the hall for pajamas, danced in my son’s room, and even attempted a hula while brushing their teeth. It was messy, but I felt it was worth it to showcase my vibrant spirit.
Since discovering my wrinkles, I’ve begun to treat them as new friends. I’ve invested in special creams and a rotating brush to pamper them each night. I even bought a satin pillow to ensure they stay young and vibrant. A dermatologist appointment was on the horizon, though I’m unsure of what will come of it.
My husband, ever supportive, has heard plenty about these newfound companions but prefers not to engage in naming them. I’ve been brainstorming names, and I make sure to include them in my daily conversations. It’s nice when people ask how I’m doing; I’ve been responding that my wrinkles and I are just fine.
These wrinkle friends have turned into a hobby of sorts. I spend time researching their care and future options, as there’s a wealth of information online. I see them as loyal companions, often sharing moments in front of the mirror together.
While some individuals resort to needles and lasers to erase their wrinkles, I fear the potential side effects. I’d rather embrace my wrinkle friends. In fact, we’ve decided to cancel that dermatologist appointment, and from now on, all lights will be dimmed.
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In summary, learning to accept my wrinkles has turned into a journey of self-discovery and acceptance. They have become a part of my daily life, and rather than hide from them, I’m embracing them as part of my story.