Disclaimer: this post is going to make me sound insufferably obnoxious. I know this. If you don’t want to read an ode to my ridiculous first-world problems, maybe skip this one and hold out for tomorrow, when I tackle such heavy hitters as “the six months my now-husband was dating someone else.” Proceed with caution, everyone. And please don’t like me any less when you’re done.
Lately, my audience has expanded a little beyond just those incredibly wonderful and gracious followers who have been with me since the beginning, when all I wrote about was whether or not I was pregnant (read: the answer was always “not”) and what my face skin was up to. Due to this broadened readership, I’ve tried to make my posts a little less myopic.
However, I am still getting visitors daily, daily, from Google searches of the words “chest acne” and “hormonal pimples,” so I think it’s about time for a blast from the archival past.
This is a Chin Skin Update.
Last summer, despite being off the pill for a few months, my face was still flawless (in terms of blemishes. Even then, at the height of my glory, I had no upper lip). In the fall, after I jambled my insides with progesterone replacements and Clomid doses, I was reintroduced to having at least one active volcano on my face all the time. At times, I’ve had up to seven giant Vesuvii at once. Always around my mouth and always enormous. Nowhere near what my acne once was pre-Accutane, but still upsetting. People take Accutane for a reason, and that reason is not that we all loved getting monthly blood tests to make sure our livers were functioning while having our skin crack and bleed and flake off.
The breakouts ebb and flow. There is no rhyme or reason to my hormones right now, so I don’t know what the deal is, but sometimes I have raging zits and sometimes, I get a two-week reprieve, when I can wear no concealer and feel free to touch my face at will.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, the skin thing doesn’t upset me. It is obviously hormonal and out of my control and will probably be a problem until I either get pregnant eventually or just decide to go back on birth control. My husband is contractually obligated to say things like, “I don’t even see anything,” even when it’s really bad, and he’s the only person who gets to see it unmasked. Usually, I am irritated, I am occasionally in minor throbbing pain, I am unfazed.
Except for right now. Tonight. When, out of the clear blue, after weeks of relative calm, I’ve got two massive eruptions brewing. This wouldn’t be a surprise, or even a blip on the radar – in fact, these sneak attacks has been happening for months and I haven’t written about them because who cares? – if Wednesday wasn’t the first time in my entire life I was going to “model” in front of a camera.
I’m one of three women participating in a promotional photo shoot organized by the insanely talented photographer who shot our wedding photos and I’m already terrified because we keep getting referred to in group messages as “the talent” and the only talent I have is to be hugely awkward all the time. Am I going to be expected to smize? (That’s “smile with my eyes,” for those of you who haven’t seen every progressively-more-insane season of America’s Next Top Model.) Am I going to be expected to know what I’m doing? Do I have to have TALENT???
In addition, and most importantly, one of the other “models” is an actual gorgeous model, so totally no pressure.
I can’t wait to be the only person there who has no talent and actual facial topography.