Crow’s feet

At 31 I am one of those people who never seem to age. I look surprisingly similar and almost certainly as awkward as I did when I was 12. I’ve always taken this for granted.

This year I became a mum and last week I took a photo of myself, aforementioned bebe and the Mr all happily smooshed together with big smiles all round. The photo is super cute – it’s a given now we have a little one – but something seemed a little strange when I first saw the family snap. I’ve changed.

It sounds tres dramatic but, for the first time, I really felt like I looked different… specifically, I looked older. On each side of my face are brand new spindly crow’s feet. They sprout proudly outwards towards my temples with not so much as a “may we sit here please?”. If they were the new kids in school, I’m sure I would have shown healthy hesitation if they came my way looking for a spot to eat their lunch.

I mean, since when did my face look so worn? So tired and wrinkly and mum-ish? Apparently since NOW. I’m not sure how they got there exactly. Well, I could take a guess… night feeds, car crying episodes, peer pressure and information-overload-induced panic…

But seriously. I really have changed. Those toothpickish toes are scratching away at my youth. I don’t know how I feel about that. I keep smiling in the mirror so I can see them again. I hope they don’t get the wrong idea. I feel sad, not happy. Should I feel happy? Happy that I have great reasons for the crows to land on my head? Well, I’m sick of hearing “should” at the moment so I’m going with “I can feel sad about this.”

Now, where is that moisturiser?


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