How old, again?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning, it was a mistake I'll try not to repeat. For the first time in my life I looked my actual age. It was quite the shock to my system. The only thing that makes it easier for me to bear is the fact that it was 1:45. In the morning.

Yes, once again, continuous, uninterrupted sleep eluded me as my role of mom-to-three took precedence over sweet dreams and subsequently, I caught a good look at what nearly-30 looks like.

I know, for all you who have graced this world with your presence for longer than that, and think I'm complaining about age way before my time, hear me out.

I've been told by outspoken people all my life how young I look. Most estimated my age 10 years younger than I really was. It's something I didn't appreciate as a teenager, but knew that when the year 2038 rolls around (and I turn 60), I'll be very proud of my "young genes."

Unfortunately, after this morning's aged-face incident, I know I cannot go on my grandmother's gift of good genes, ironically also her middle name ("Jean"). But I've got to start using anti-age creams for sunspots, green avocado masks for my gigantic pores, and most importantly, get my hubby to take turns with the children to avoid midnight trips to the bathroom mirror.

And, for all my curious friends, this is a photo of my Grandma, taken last week: