Sometimes there are days when I look in the mirror and think “Allright Mama… You got it going on. Not too shabby for almost 40….” My eyes are sparkly, my skin is clear, I feel good about my inner and outer self……
These are the days that I can accept my flaws with love in my heart. I can overlook my imperfections with a shrug, knowing it’s these very flaws and imperfections that make me human and make me exactly who I am.
And then there are the other days…. The days when I look in the mirror and can’t for the life of me figure out how a troll like me could produce two cute kids. These are usually the days that there is a torrent of evil hormones coursing through my veins like possessed lava. Hormones that can skew normal judgement and reason. You know those sort of hormones, don’t you girls? When the slightest speck of dirt on the floor or misdiagnosed comment about the laundry from your husband can and will send you into a torrent of tears and insane rages. Personally, I fantasize about my favorite frying pan meeting his face at about, oh, say 175 miles per hour…. Those also happen the be the days when I want to channel my inner New Yorker and flip the bird at some innocent little old lady shopping in Wal-Mart for her favorite cookies to give to her loving grandchildren simply because her cart happened to be put right in front of me just to piss me off was slightly in my way. These are the days that I marvel at the gross injustice of getting wrinkles AND zits at the same time. Seriously. What. The. Fuck? Slight smile lines are forming deeper grooves, all the while red spots are sprouting along my chin, making me look like a cross between a withered hag and a dorky teenager. I can live with the wrinkles. I get it. I’m aging. But pimples too? It’s all a bit disheartening, isn’t it?
The answer for me is time. Wait a couple days…. Wait until the torrent of rage is abated after the hormones level off. Wait until I become sane once again. Then, not only are all little old ladies shopping in Wal-Mart safe once more, but I can then usually see the beauty within and upon me. Then I can, once again, love those laugh lines and grooves and etches of experience upon my face.