By Regular Contributor Kim Saunders (@captainco.tasmania)
Botox. For or against. Either way, it’s a touchy subject.
I'm all about a la natural. I'm not one to get regular facials... although I would love to. I'm not a spray tan kinda girl... although I'm lucky to have olive skin, and nowhere to go needing a tan. I'm hopeless at maintaining a regular hairdressers appointment... once a year is as regular as I get. I'm not a manicure person... ugh, the smell. I'm definitely not a pedicure person. People touching my feet gross me out. Feet in general freak me out. I'm not a waxer... again... I couldn't maintain a regular appointment if I tried.
But.... I'm not against Botox. I may or may not of had a few 'pricks' in my time.
Feel free to judge me... but hear me out first. I'm a stickler for daily cleansing and moisturising my face. Wearing sunscreen daily and hats when I’m out and about in the sun. Avoiding the ‘danger hours’ in the sun. Not quite to the Nicole Kidman extent... but I do try to cover up and be as sun smart as possible.
I'm heading towards 40. Ok, I'm 37 in February. That's close enough to 40 for me. I have a fairly prominent forehead. Not quiet Sam Stosur-esque. Close. It's one of the things that bugs me the most from my neck up. My forehead. Sheesh. I've also got quite an expressive rubber like face. Always moving. Always getting me in trouble. You can see what I'm thinking a mile away... Just by watching my facial expressions. Mostly the 'I'm not impressed' look which involves raising the eyebrows and crinkling my Christine Ricci sized forehead.
I'm fine with crow’s feet. I'm fine with smile lines. But the accordion on my forehead... sigh. Not happy Jan.
So I've had a few jabs. The first after my 30th birthday. I saw a photo of myself blowing out candles on a cake. It was an eight-layer cake. It matched my eight forehead crinkles. That's where the Botox curiosity began. A week later... jab jab. Happy. Well happ-ish.
Fast forward three years... I realised I had never gone back for more. So off I went. Didn't tell my husband Mr. Perfect. Didn't tell anyone.
Now another three years have passed. I think there are definitely more than eight crinkles now. Could be the constant 'I'm-so-happy-to-sing-a-long-to-The-Wiggles'-e-m-m-a-EMMA-all-day-everyday' raised eyebrow, overly happy face, mixed with my receding pregnancy hairline making my forehead seem like it is now more than half my head.
I've never let them do the 'full' amount they tell me I 'need'. I still like my forehead to move. I've never let them talk me into anywhere else on my face. I don't want to look like someone from Madam Tussaud. I like my Botox to be minimal and sporadic. Very sporadic. Twice in six years. Six jabs in total. Not too bad.
Either way, there is a little voice quietly chanting B-to-the-O-to-the-T-the-O-to-the-X. YES!
Of course, never with baby on board or when breast-feeding. It's not a definite yes. It's not a definite no. It's a maybe. Hmmmm. Jab. Jab. xx