<30 Not Much Longer

The countdown to my thirtieth birthday began in July. I've felt like I've been in my thirties for a few years now, and have subsequently believed that it would be No Big Thang to actually turn thirty. Maybe so. But I do find myself thinking about it more than I thought I would, for a reason that is right in front of my nose every time I look in the mirror: my ever-deepening wrinkles.

Those summers on the waterfront in Michigan took their toll; I have crinkly eye wrinkles that do not go away when I stop smiling. But it's the pronounced wrinkles between my eyebrows that are getting me down even more. They are frown wrinkles, and they are there because I frown so much. I'm not an unhappy person, but I do tend to worry. My mother also pointed out a few years ago that I knit my brow while knitting. I knit my brow when I concentrate on anything - cooking, writing, reading, you name it. So the brow wrinkle is here to stay, and as I am unlikely to give up any of my favorite activities anytime soon, it will only get worse.

I am not remotely into the idea of Botox, or much of any unnecessary, elective appearance-changing surgery for that matter, but I suddenly understand why people do it: you don't age on your own terms. You look in the mirror, and you don't see the person you're expecting.

I realized that my profile picture should more accurately reflect the person I see in the mirror. Because I love that picture of me laughing (while holding baby Lily) so much, I've kept it up for nearly four years. I don't look like that anymore. Not just the new wrinkles, either. I am no longer blond, having given up my beloved bleach for good when I was pregnant with Juliette. It dawned on me a few weeks ago that now that I'm bleach-free, I can participate in Locks of Love. My hair grows so slowly that there is no way I'll be able to chop and donate it by my 30th birthday, but I'm still going to think of it as my thirtieth birthday gift to the recipient. It's better for me to go chemical-free, and my dishwater not-quite-blond hair can actually do some good for someone else.

And yes, I'm 100% aware that this is just about the most boring post ever. I just needed to get it out of my system, I guess. Thirty, here we come. I'm predicting a good decade.

After all, is the first thing you notice when you see this picture the faint double worry line? I didn't think so.

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