It starts a bit off centre, right at the top of my nose. It curves up between my eyebrows, skirting the small scar from when I picked at my chicken pox as a kid. It creeps into my forehead before suddenly stopping.
An inch. Maybe an inch and a half. I have a feeling it will keep growing.
I looked at myself in the mirror one morning and it was all I saw. I wondered when I had gotten so old. When I had gotten so stressed to warrant such a line. Where had it come from?
I stepped outside into the morning sun carrying a diaper bag and snacks and a stroller. Herding the kids down the stairs in front of me, I squinted at the brightness. Then I knew. The line wasn't just from the stress of being a mom, it was an occupational hazard of improper equipment.
I went back into the house for my black hat. I pulled it low onto my head, shading the line on my face. Then I started my day.