The other night I went to dinner with some friends and we were lamenting the fact that a few of us have started to wear and embrace the tankini. It got me thinking not just about my post- baby delivery body, but about my weird age in terms of body stuff.
I feel that at 34 I am sort of at the precipice of wearing lame attire. Remember that ad for "mom jeans" that SNL did as a spoof? I still cringe at the idea of those high- waisted nightmares. But I wonder if I look ridiculous in low- rise now, and if I don't, will I soon?
I am so torn on this because I know plenty of people my age who still rock bikinis and look awesome. And then there's, say, Jennifer Aniston who is like 44 or something and can wear nipple- covers and a thong and look incredible. But I know I don't have the body that these peeps have. I'm not overweight, and I have a skinny bone structure. But I don't work out much anymore. Alas, my body is going to shiz. I've been noticing a gradual change for the past few years, but as of very recently, the ick factor seems to have heightened. I'm not about to blame all this on delivering Mabel, because it was almost 17 months ago, and Sarah Jessica Parker had her pre- baby body back 3 weeks after she gave birth. But I do bet that having a kid makes the come- back harder. Boobs, hips, and even thighs have taken a big plunge into yuck- ville from having been pregnant, and they don't seem to want to bounce back completely. I do have to say the bod has bounced back better than I thought it would, but of course I notice the differences. If I am being honest, though, it's my 25- year- old body I wish I could get back--- not my 32- year- old pre- Mabel form.
And what's funny is that I never realized I had a decent body when I was 25. Trust me, I am not claiming for a moment that I ever looked like Aniston or even close to it, but I didn't have extra skin. My boobs were way perkier, and my legs were far more toned. It's true that youth is wasted on the young because all I ever did then was inwardly complain about how I looked in a swimsuit. My, to have a DeLorean and go back.
It's not just the body either. Lately, it's the mug. I have to take a big step down from my soap box because I used to scoff at people who got Botox and stuff like that to look younger. "That is so, so vain," I would think. But now I know a few people who have gotten injections and really, they look fabulous. Now I'm not saying I am going to run out and spend 300 bucks a pop on Botox for my wrinkled forehead, but I am moving further and further away from thinking it's a terrible idea. I think people need to do what makes them feel good. For me, getting any kind of plastic surgery-- going under a knife for vanity's sake-- would not make me feel good. So THAT'S not for me. But who am I to judge others, if that's what they want to do? It sucks that as humans our self- confidence is a little tied to our looks.
So if I am not going to get any kinds of treatments, I am stuck trying to minimize crow's feet and other unsightly wrinkles using products I can buy. And most are just full of chemicals, and then THAT makes me nervous. No winning! Where do we draw the line between vain and happy, between dangerous and confidence- boosting?
All this questioning reminds me of when I was pregnant with Mabel. I wasn't sure whether it was safe to get my hair dyed, but I was already sprouting many grey hairs. I consulted several friends who had already had kids and who I knew colored their hair. I ended up deciding to go for it, but used foils only during the first trimester and then spaced appointments out a little more than usual. When I told this plan to a coworker, who does not yet have ANY greys and is older than me, she said, "Or what if you just went natural? Like just do grey and then that's YOUR thing? You've got the greys!" I looked at her probably really bitchily, because I was thinking, "Are you effing serious?? I am 32- frickin'- years- old." I paused and instead just said I wasn't ready for that yet, but truth be told, I will likely not be there for a long, long time. I work with another lady who looks gorgeous with a head of silver hair, but in all honesty, when I met her I thought she was about 15 years older than she was.
I'm not sure why I care. What is the inborn thing that is telling me I can't be grey? I suppose it's society and all that marketing, yadda- yadda. But I hate myself a little when I find myself having vain thoughts. It feels so arrogant and self- absorbed.
I went a few weeks ago to Nordstrom to get some concealer that would work well for the crow's feet (high school and college girls-- it's NOT worth it to have a tan face. Wear your SPF-- pleeease!). The guy at the counter asked what I needed, and when I told him, he said, "Oh, yeah, and for the bags, too?" Ok, so I guess I have bags under the eyes as well. Thanks, dick! But he was right. I have to admit it. And the make- up I got works to a point, but at the end of the day I have the lines and some sun- spots and a host of other fun blemishes. I'm trying to make peace with them for now. Maybe if I give them pet names I will come to adore them.
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