It’s been nine years of marriage. Two cities. Three babies. Five surgeries. One dog. Thirteen ducks.
These days my quick glance in the mirror turns into a pause at the woman staring back at me. I contort my lips. I smile, frown, and watch the surrounding skin move into rippled patterns. The skin doesn’t bounce back as it used to.
Facebook flashbacks show me pictures of a different woman. I can see my face- but it’s smoothed, clear, and my eyes are free from the black frames that now rest upon my nose.
I don’t dislike myself. Still, as I start to see gravity take its toll on my face, part of me mourns the loss of the face I used to know. Does my husband miss her? Sure, he tells me I’m beautiful often, but doesn’t beauty as you age just mean more beautiful in the heart than the outside?Read More