Tears and Pimples


I may be wrong–and if so, I invite my parents, who read this blog, to take the liberty of correcting me–but I wasn’t a typical teenager.

I didn’t spend hours primping or preening or worrying about my appearance. I didn’t argue (well, with a couple exceptions) or break rules or do drugs or get drunk or… I skipped over just about all of the things that many screwed up things normal American teenagers do. I don’t think I was moody. Pensive, yes (still am), but not moody. I didn’t obsess about pimples.

But there’s something about pregnancy that makes me feel more vulnerable than I ever did as a teenager. I’m regressing. I cry frequently and prolifically. Last night, I watched the news and cried about homeless kids, soldiers missing their arms or legs or minds, and nuclear plant workers with incurable diseases. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and noticed: more pimples.

Pregnancy is, maybe, the ultimate form of vulnerability. I’d explore that more, write more about it, but  I’d probably start crying.  I think I’ll go check on my pimples instead.


3 responses »

  1. I sobbed this morning reading a book that I’ve read at least seven times before. And yesterday when I woke up, for no reason. And anything about kids or babies hurt or in danger, even in the stupidest Adam Sandler movie that you wouldn’t think could move anyone to tears…forget it.

  2. You were a wonderful teenager. Your problem right now is hormones – they control us way more than we like to think.

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