"All my friends are getting Botox. Should I?"

Last week at a mum and kids get-together I was delivered the news that a handful of my friends had a group booking for some anti-wrinkle injections.

My first reaction was; can I come? I was intrigued and keen to know more. I was also sick of people greeting me with mock concern by saying, “you look tired”. Yeah, thanks.

Until I was faced with a whole group of friends heading to the cosmetic clinic, I had thought about injectables in a ‘maybe one day’ way. After all, they are expensive and I don’t much like sharp and pointy objects.

The revelation that it is now officially something all my friends are doing was a shock. I felt officially old and I went home to examine my face in a new and critical light.

While I have many, many things to complain about regarding my body, I have always been quite happy with my face. My nose is on the big side but I never really cared.

But as I smile at myself in the mirror now, I notice that my friendly grin has given me crow’s feet. I should have gone more ‘Posh Spice glum’ at least a decade ago. I can see how banishing a few wrinkles would make a significant difference.

Aside from curiosity and the desire to join in, my most prominent feeling was one of dread.

Dread of my impending downward spiral to old age and of being the obvious outsider who chose not to go there. I will forever be the tired and old looking mummy at our meet-ups.

Watch when Jordan on Scrubs gets Botox. Post continues below. 

I also feel sad that as women today this choice even exists. We can choose to look ‘good for our age’ by using a toxin to dull our facial muscles or we can remain ‘au naturel’ and look our age, which for women is not seen as a good choice. Forty is the new 30, which is the new 21.

While our partners are allowed to embrace their ‘dad bods’ and go silver fox like George Clooney, we are supposed to look to 22-year old Victoria Secrets models for inspiration.

It is no great surprise that I and many other women of my age and stage struggle with this “Will-I-wont-I?” internal debate. Female beauty and perfection is shoved down our necks every single day, thanks to the thousands of celebrities and socialites who belong to the ageless ‘other race’ with their smooth foreheads and cat-like eyes.

When I look around at my gym class or in the café or the local shopping mall and see what real women look like, I know in my rational mind that celebrities and the rich WAGS of Toorak are not the average woman.

But by constantly being exposed to what their version of 40, 50 or 60 looks like, it begins to feel like they are the ‘normal’ ones.

For some women, friends included, injections are no big deal; they are just the next step up from anti-ageing eye serum. For me it is slightly more complicated. I hate the fact women feel the pressure to give in to society’s demands that we remain forever young or risk becoming – shock horror- invisible.

I personally don’t think any of my friends need cosmetic injections, to me they are all stunning and I look at them and see clever, fun, attractive and interesting women. I don’t see their apparent flaws, but we are all our own worst critics and I make no judgement of anyone who feels comfortable getting a bit of cosmetic work done, if that is their choice.

When I told my husband about the friends getting anti-wrinkle injections he was affronted that I thought I needed to do the same. He certainly doesn’t care if I have crow’s feet or forehead wrinkles, he loves me as I am and for who I am.

My son loves my face too and when we say goodnight, he strokes my cheek and says how nice and soft it is compared to daddy’s rough stubble. I love this nightly ritual and I feel uncomfortable about the message it would send him if mummy got injections because I felt unhappy with the face that he loves.

For the moment I like my crows’ feet or ‘smile lines’, they are an expression of all my happy times and fun memories and I don’t believe that wiping them off my face will make me look or feel any better.

I make no such promises to the worry lines on my forehead, I am a flawed human after all and a day will undoubtedly come where a decent hair cut and face of make-up no longer makes a difference.

Now can someone get me a coffee, I am extremely tired.

Do you get Botox, or are you resisting it?