Really? What about you’re only as old as you look! Age has become such a hindering thought in my mind and even amongst conversations with other mothers. Prior to children my hair was not balding, and my face showed only expressions not roadmaps of sleeplessness and stress.

My sudden breakout of acne drew me to a dermatologist who explained I could be in the early stages of perimenopause. I’m sorry, peri who!!!

I’m 28 going on 29 with the view of my twenties fading further toward the horizon.

Aside from the fear that jumping will result in light bladder leakage or that squats at the gym will blow a valve, I’ve begun massaging eye cream into my deprived skin hoping it’ll forgive me and spring back to it’s plumpness.

I scroll back through photos in my early twenties not knowing how lucky I was to have no fly away hairs, my boobs where I could see them and collagen of a 12-week old baby.

I was 17 when the doctor put me on the pill to clear up my skin which gave amazing results, however becoming a mother meant 4 years off the pill. When I was seeking updated advice from another doctor, I was told with my family history that being back on the pill will increase my odds at developing cervical cancer and I should just use a condom for contraception. THANKS! (bitch).

Some Mums have dabbled into the now trendy, accessible and affordable enhancers of Botox and lip fillers which is each to their own and what makes them feel happy within themselves. At this point I can’t see myself going down that road.

So running further out of options, I think I will just embrace those lines, slick back those fly-aways and send a search and rescue for those saggy potatoes and be grateful that I CAN age, because growing old is a privilege denied by many.


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