My girls have asked me if they can have haircuts because their pandemic hair already looked unruly. So since today is a Catholic holiday, I obliged and went to a salon that didn’t require prior appointment.

I took advantage of the free time and brought them to their dentist for their prophylaxis. What was supposed to be an emergency procedure (because Twin I broke her molar tooth but it turned out to be a clean break) became a routine procedure–annual cleaning. Might as well get that out of the way.

It was kinda awkward that one of the assistants asked about J, whom they referred to as the girls’ dad. I was at the waiting room when that was asked so I didn’t know. Isay honestly said, oh he’s not my dad and he’s no longer around.

The assistant said, oh but you looked like him that’s why I mistook him as your dad.

It must be the eyes. My girls got my small eyes.

Anyway, after dentist, we braved SM Marikina because I need to buy them underwear–especially bras–because they have grown up so fast. I’m surprised that they have matured earlier than me. My body started to change when I was 12 and really didn’t have pimples until I was in college.

Their choices for their clothes and other personal stuff are no longer child-like. They hate princess stuff and gravitate towards more mature colors like teal, grey, and black.

My little girls are no longer little. They’re turning into ladies. 🥺

At the same time, I’m preparing myself for the changes my body will also go through. This essay on Huffpost is like a slap in the face for me who had become so insecure about my age after I have had an ageist ex-partner who went after a girl almost 15 yrs his junior. I didn’t mind before that I was already 40. It was a badge of honor that I reached that age and hopefully much wiser. But then…I met J. Oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️

I have to get over that trauma. I’m fine. My age doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just me and my friends, who thankfully don’t care about my age. I just need to lose my belly and I’m ok.

I will be ok.