Saturday, August 21, 2010

At Thirty-Three

Since I have turned thirty-three, Rhett has reminded me several times that if I were Jesus, I would currently be atoning for the world's sins and resurrecting myself in miraculous fashion. I encourage this kind of talk, because Rhett's penchant for irreverence is going to get him thrust into hell, which I think we've already established is the place that I have the best chance of landing a permanent home.

After Logan was born, I suddenly noticed, why no, it wasn't pregnancy making me look a little old, it was just that I am, in fact, starting to look a little old.

I'm not old, really. I know that. I'm young! I'm totally young. I'm too young, in fact, to have four kids, but here I am, pretending I know what I'm doing, trying to remember that they want to buy school lunches on Friday, that Veevs prefers her sandwiches with plain peanut butter, that Spe likes his tortillas rolled up with ranch, and that Jakers won't eat anything except yogurt and granola bars.

But if I look closely in the mirror, I can see that my skin no longer thinks it's very young. I have a little wrinkle in my forehead, where I have raised my eyebrows in disbelief one too many times. I have the beginnings of crows feet around my eyes. I have a spot on my face where the pigment is just gone. (Hello, Michael Jackson, I no longer think you are quite as ridiculous with your pigment-erasing excuses.)

So I'm trying all sorts of creams and lotions, which has had the effect of plumping up my pre-wrinkled skin, but has also made me break out like a teenager all over again. My choices are awesome: acne or wrinkles. WIN-WIN! I have tried to compromise by using the fancy creams and lotions only above my chin (which is the breakout central), but then I worry that I look like a complete freak: plump youthful skin above the chin, haggish wrinkly skin on the chin, one albino spot on one cheek, and a small wart (I didn't mention this previously, but hey, why not? What pride is left to me now?) on my lip from this last pregnancy (my doctor quasi-promised it would go away after birth, but he was wrong, wrong, wrong).

It's hard being this glamorous, guys.