Mama Needs Botox.

I just caught sight of myself in the mirror and all I could think was “Damn, I need Botox.” A few years ago I wouldn’t have even considered putting toxins in my face because a few years ago I was laughing my ass off at how ridiculous Meg Ryan looked with her crazy lips the size of banana slugs and how Nicole Kidman’s face looks more plastic than a credit card. And then I had a kid. And, oh my God in one year I aged ten. And, then I turned forty and got pregnant with twins and suddenly, here I am forty-two and I feel like I look fifty!


So what if I’m not an actress and so what if I will never again look twenty-seven; is it wrong to want to be carded once in awhile or to not get weird stares in a nightclub? Then again, who even uses a term like “nightclub” besides someone in their forties? So I wouldn’t really be fooling anyone anyway. I’ve decided that it doesn’t matter if I use words like nightclub or if I still say fo shizzle, I deserve to erase some lines. I may have three kids and spend an inordinate amount of time in sweatpants but I would like to look in the mirror and not see a big old frown line across my forehead. Is it too much to want to not look permanently scowly? Does it make me a bad person? I just am not ready to look like I’ve given up. I’m not proud of myself for feeling this way. I wouldn’t want my daughters worrying excessively about how they look on the outside nor would I want them injecting botulism into their face to ward off age but would I judge them if they did?


Here’s how I see it: I’m going to the gym, I’m eating healthy (if you consider Healthy Choice ice cream bars to be healthy – which I do – hello! The word “healthy” is right in the name!), I’m getting enough sleep and by enough I mean a few hours bookended by babies crying and g-tube alarms going off in the middle of the night. Basically I’m doing my part and my part isn’t cutting it so it’s time to call in the big guns. These age spots aren’t going to lighten themselves.


I know the healthier attitude is to accept growing older gracefully. My husband calls my wrinkles “laugh lines” and insists that they are a natural part of me and give me character but that’s just because he knows how much a syringe full of Botox costs. I won’t even discuss how much Juvederm is running these days. How do I know? I went to a plastic surgeon and asked. I happened to be with a friend who was having a follow-up appointment for a little “alteration” she had done and I asked about Botox.


“You know what would be great for you?” the assistant nurse asked.


“Um, what?” I said, hoping it would be minimally invasive.


“We have this new mini face-lift. It’s non-surgical and it only requires a few days of social downtime.”


Was she serious? Did I really look like someone who could use a face-lift? This was very disconcerting.


“I’m only forty-two. I think that’s a bit young for any procedure requiring ‘social downtime’” I snapped back.



I was amused by your story about mommy needed botox and it reminded me of my own story about getting old, which I posted on my blog last night and would like to share with you.