I have a Little Bird. A Step-Monster that has evolved into a Step-Goddess. I have a 19-year old kid.

No, she’s not my biological daughter and I am no longer with her father but we have maintained a beautiful parent/kid relationship. I take pride in this person. My person.

And I should! She’s hilarious, kind, and real. And stunning. This girl is beautiful. Soon, the whole world will get to see how gorgeous she is as she just signed a contract with one of the TOP modeling agencies…IN THE WORLD!

A product of a Persian father and a Mexican mother, Birdy (y’all don’t get to know her real name yet), stands at around 5’10” with legs up to her ears, long dark hair and a laugh that reminds you she’s a real person.

Years ago when I was with her dad, I had to fight tooth and nail to keep her from wearing make up. She was just so naturally gorgeous, she didn’t need it. Yet, if I couldn’t find my mascara, I knew to check her purse. I know too soon she won’t be able to step out bare-faced without some kind of media backlash. But back then, she was the Queen of the Home Spa. She loved making face masks out of over-ripe bananas, oatmeal, and honey or hair masks out of avocado & coconut oil. Some times we would enlist her little brother into giving us 10 minute neck massages while we relaxed with cucumbers over our eyes. This little girl had it right all along.

Nowadays, I look in the mirror and wonder when I became 32. My skin isn’t as tight as it used to be. I’ve developed a couple of lines on my forehead and around my eyes from laughing too much or perhaps scowling. I have a wrinkle at the top of my lip that now I require a mirror to apply my lipstick just right and I have a few small sun spots from a Florida and California lifestyle. Of course, all of this could be taken care of with a few needle pricks. And while I’m not against the idea in the least, I am quite particular about who the lucky person will be to inject my face with Botox.

And my boobs. While I don’t have a robust chest, I have noticed a little lack of perk. When did my body lose the fight against gravity?

The thought of going under the knife becomes more and more frequent everyday. While I’m not comparing myself to a 19 year old, I am wondering when everything started changing. Was this something that happened over the course of a few weeks? Are these the consequences of hearing LAST CALL too many times? Or is this just what happens?

I remember my mom was absent from escorting me on the basketball court for Senior Night in high school because she had her ‘chin and neck done’ and was still in recovery. I was furious with her. I tried shaming her, saying ‘You’re 48 and married! Who are you trying to look good for?’ The answer? Herself. And now I get it. I don’t want to have the Botox and boob job and laser hair removal for anyone but myself.

But, all of that is on the surface for, at 32, I’m figuring it out along the way. Sure I might have a little weight around my mid-section but that is from enjoying delicious wine and cuisine with people I love. And it’s those dinners where I learned to accept who I am. I am the product of a liberal woman’s woman. She taught me the art of loving myself, which is now sinking in as I’m aging little by little. I’ve learned to mind my business a little more and take care of my own needs first and foremost. I held out for as long as I could for a man to take care of me, totally against everything my mom had taught me. Hell! I couldn’t even watch The Smurfs or Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs growing up. Why? Because she didn’t want me growing up thinking I had to take care of ‘a bunch of little men’.  It’s paid off. I’m aware of who I am, what I have to offer, who my true friends are, what I’m worth, and where I’m going.

So maybe aging isn’t completely on the outside. I’d like to say ‘aging’ is synonymous with ‘growing’. The art of growing. 🙂


*Little Bird, don’t forget to grab those pricey La Mar creams for your ‘aging’ Mama Bird. 😉