Sometimes I Flinch

This morning I walked into the bathroom after what might have been the longest night ever in the history of the world, and the person looking at me from the mirror did not look like me. She didn't even look like my friend. That was a rude awakening.

Later I walked into the bathroom and the woman looking back at me looking very much like my mother. MY 40-SOMETHING MOTHER! (At least she was put together. That lady earlier didn't look so hot.)

Of course, it's just me looking back. But today it's not the 18-year-old girl or the 25-year-old young mom. Nope, it's just the real 40-something me--the same me who has a daughter in college, two children in high school, and a child in middle school, but not one in elementary school or Primary; the same me who has been married longer than I was ever single; the me who has made a million mistakes but who has also done some pretty good stuff; the me who had quite a few sleepless nights with babies and now has some sleepless night with teens; the me who used to be mean when it meant no more cookies and now is mean when it means I-won't-buy-you-one-more thing-till-you-have-a-job-of-your-own; the me whose mother is now 60-something and whose grandparents are terrifyingly elderly (but still living, thank heaven!); the me whose children still occasionally come to sit on my lap, but I can't see over their SHOULDERS, let alone over their heads.

It's a tiny bit sickening when this person comes to visit my mirror.