I was getting myself ready the other morning. With 3 kids, that usually consists of throwing on jeans and some respectable shirt. Preferably one that is clean and doesn't have spit up, markers or dried play doh embedded in the fibers. I step into the bathroom to do the usual stuff...brush my teeth, deodorant, a little lipstick, some mascara. I have naturally curly hair, so my flat iron is my best friend. Washing my hair only comes every 2-3 days when I straighten it. This particular day my hair was already straight so I was looking for a clip to pull it away from my face a bit. I look in the mirror to get my hair just so and then...
...no. Is that? No way. I lean in for a closer look.
No. What the...? It can't be. But it is. Right there staring at me. A gray hair. Holy shit! Who is this person in the mirror. It surely cannot be me, because I am still 25.
I am not one of those people who is going to enjoy growing older. I won't do it gracefully either. I already don't like it. Now, I am not one to dive into plastic surgery...no, no. But I will be the one still exercising, trying to eating well, surfing until the day I die and dying my hair GODDAMIT!
Birthdays aren't really my thing anymore, unless they are for my kids. I stopped counting after 25. What's the point? All the milestone birthdays have passed...at least all the good ones. I don't really consider 40, 50, 60 or above, milestones. I know hitting those birthdays are better than not hitting them. It will mean I got to see my kids grow up, but I am still having a hard time accepting that I will be 37 in January. Yuck.
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