A Wrinkle in Time

There have been millions of times when I have said, "I need to update my blog" since the last time I actually did, but alas, I can never get to the computer to do so when it's on my mind. Today though, I was actually at the computer so I can finally post something when I actually have something to say.

I turned 38 a few weeks ago and I kid you not, the second I did it was like God flipped a switch on my face and I am developing wrinkles at a rapid pace. What kills me is that I've spent thousands of dollars over time to take care of my skin - creams, serums, facials, etc. and my skin is no better than my husband's - also 38 - who does none of these things (thank God, or we'd be broke).

For my class reunion earlier this year, I tried Botox. Loved the effects it had on my forehead, until I forgot to tell my acupuncturist about it and she stuck needles there. Apparently, acupuncture draws out toxins. Who knew?!? I had them add some under and around my eyes and wasn't happy with the results but somehow made it to the reunion looking halfway decent. Still, I think I'm too young to become a Botox junkie. Maybe I should try another doctor?

An hour after I had my first Botox treatment, I looked in the mirror and noticed that one eyelid was drooping lower than the other. I freaked out (did you happen to see the episode of Modern Family where Al Bundy gets Botox?) and called the plastic surgeon's office. They said it couldn't have been from the Botox that soon...and they were right. Six months later and I still have it. My neurologist ran all kinds of diagnostic tests (blood work, MRI, MRA, etc.) and all came back negative for a medical cause. It very likely was from the Topamax I was taking for my migraines.

So here I am with a deep wrinkle in my chin, one starting on my nose, crepey skin under my eyes, major smile lines and ptosis of the eyelid. I am regretting every day I went out in the sun with baby oil and iodine in my teenage years and every second I spent in tanning beds in my 20s to look hot for a night out or a special occasion.

I guess I should be grateful that I've made it to 38, considering all of the stupid things I did in my youth. And I suppose I should be thrilled that visits to the dermatologist have not yet turned up squamous or melanoma skin cancers. But tell that to my vanity gene. All it cares about are the wrinkles.

Sigh.