You know how sometimes, when you have a pimple and you're looking in the mirror in the morning, desperately trying to cover it up with makeup (which usually just makes it look more gross but less red), you tell yourself that nobody else really notices your pimples?
I do that. In fact, I usually believe myself because, frankly, I hardly ever notice flaws in my friends' skin--and my friends probably don't actually all have perfect skin.
This week, for whatever reason, my entire system seems to be erupting with hormones, and my skin has not escaped. My face is a landscape of volcanoes. My T-zone (usually the oily trouble area comprising forehead, nose, and chin) has expanded to envelop my entire face.
And my dear, sweet, empathic, 16-month-old daughter will not stop furrowing her brow when she looks at me. She reaches out to my face with one finger, touching my zits one by one with a look of great concern on her face.
"Ow," she says.
I guess that means I can't pretend that my breakout is invisible to everyone else. But I can take comfort in the fact that my daughter has a well-developed sense of empathy and concern for other individuals. You win some, you lose some.