Don't worry, I know I'm not ugly

So, a friend brought to my attention that I might be a bit obsessed with people's ages.  Well, she didn't say "obsessed" but after a quick pause on the subject I'm sure I  am.  You see I was stricken with a condition that I have named "aging awareness" when I was 11.  10 has been my favorite number as long as I can remember.  I think it started because my brother's best friend growing up (who was soooo dreamy) wore the number 10 on his football jersey but I might have liked it before that.  No matter when I started to love the number 10.  When I was 10 years old, I loved being 10.  I was a magical number.  Then, like most 10 year old's (some kids die before they ever leave the age of 10) I had my 11th birthday and I was crushed.  My Dad remembers finding me hiding and crying on the floor that day.  When he asked me what was wrong I sobbed, "I *sob*don't*sob* want*sob* to*sob* grow*sob* uuuup".  Cut to me being 30.
What I didn't realize all these years is that I was afraid of losing my inner child, my carefree personality and my, crazy unique sense of humor.  Now that I'm technically an adult and I am may be crazier than ever, I have had time to focus on what is truly important:  My Looks. 
Of course, I have always known I was pretty (of course).  But it has only been in the last year or so that I have noticed that I don't look like me to me.  In my mind I have a more round face, much fewer freckles, no "fine" lines and where did this super long, pointy chin come from?!?!  I'm not saying I think I'm ugly (let's be serious) but it's kind of unsettling to see myself look like someone else to me.  You could compare it to the way you feel when you hear your own voice on an answering machine.  So, I have spent the last few days wondering why this scares me.  I'm not afraid to age.  I'm afraid of not knowing who I am.  I do realize that I'm basing who I am on how I look and I do know that's not who I really am, blah blah blah...
I remember both my parents having at least two completely different looks in my life.  My first memories of my Mom are of her with short, dark, straight hair, and a big smile on her thin face.  I can also think of my Mom with permed short hair and the same exact smile (only smaller due to, shall I say, fuller cheeks).  Now she is so tiny that she's almost a stranger when I hug her.  And when I look at her wedding picture, I wonder how it feels for her to look at herself that long ago.  I don't mean to be rude. Obviously after 40+ years of marriage she looks much different than she did on that day at 19 in 1967.  She is still beautiful and has the same beautiful, warm smile but she has, gulp, aged, albeit gracefully. The same goes for my dad, there are about three different ways he has looked over the years, each one adding a bit of, shall I say, wisdom to his look. 
I wish I knew how to accept this new faze of looks that I am coming into.  And no, for once in my life, I'm not asking my readers for reassurance that I'm just as beautiful as ever (which I know you all are dying to do once you finish reading this) however, it's only fun to fish for compliments when I'm being clever about it.  So, I guess I'll just go hide under the bed and cry for a while about how I don't want to grow up *sob*. Then after 10 years of looking like this I'll get use to it only to be slapped in the face by my 40's and I'll go through this whole process again.  Hey, it only took me 15 years to realize I don't need to worry about becoming a mature boring adult.