

"Mum... what is that?" my daughter Summer asked pointedly one night when she was looking at herself in the bathroom mirror whilst invading my personal shower time.
Sensing her urgency for an answer (mainly due to her eyeballs staring at me wildly as her fingers prodded at her forehead), I switched off the shower, grabbed my towel and moved in to closely inspect her face.
"It's a pimple, babe," I quickly responded.
"Sorry, what? A pimple? I don’t get pimples. How embarrassing!" she exclaimed in complete horror. She stormed off downstairs as I had a little giggle to myself about the pre-teen hormones that were already raging through her body.
As I dressed however, taking in my own changing body (thanks kids and old age!), I remember exactly how I felt at her age discovering my first pimple. My first underarm hair. My little growing breasts. And eventually at 11, my first period.
I remember how exposed and different I felt from my friends. The boobs, hair and period I could disguise or hide, but not my face. The angry little red mountains adorning my baby face were right there for all to see, laugh at, and comment on. That isn’t what I want for Summer.
And neither does she, because while I was cooking dinner that evening, she told me she wants to use something to help her skin so she can feel more confident going to school and looking in the mirror (oh my heart!).
Image: Supplied.