The Sands of Time

 


Aging & the art of growing old gracefully


When I was little, under the age of thirteen, I remember noticing my mom getting older.

She had this cool trench coat and when she wore it she sort of morphed into this sophisticated, young woman who I was no longer embarrassed to be seen in public with.

When she slid into her trench coat, wrapping the sleek belt around her slim middle, claiming back her pre-baby waist, I thought she was cool & totally un-mom minivan like.

Now I am a mom (without the minivan)and as I fight the sands of time and the gradual toll they are taking on my youth, I realize not every woman ages the same.

We all do it differently.

This past week I accompanied a friend to her Botox appointment. Yes, friends … Botox.

She’s young - early, early thirties. If you met her you'd never think she needs Botox but she’s taking a very aggressive & proactive stance on aging. Her logic is that if she starts young, she will circumvent the wrinkles, never giving them the chance to develop.

She’s basically keeping her face in a constant state of paralysis.

I am a voyeur so I insisted on joining her in the doctor’s office to watch the process. This was actually my second visit.

Surprisingly, what I witnessed was relatively uneventful.

The dermatologist came in, cleaned the delicate skin around her eyes, and injected a couple of syringes into her “barely there” creases.

As the doc slid the short needle in and around the shallow skin she didn’t move a muscle, literally. It appeared to be painless. I thought I'd see a foot jerk or something - nothing.

She was done within a few minutes and we headed over to Whole Foods for lunch… no one the wiser.