Well, someone just called me fat today.
Since it is just after the holidays I’ve been struggling to stay on target for calories right now (in my 24th week of pregnancy). Despite my doctor’s insistence that I am right on target for weight and I don’t need to walk 8 miles every day, I persisted until Thanksgiving, when a series of back-to-back colds and infections kept me in the house, near the Christmas cookies for a month. Today, in a determined effort to get back on track, I bundled up and set out to waddle around the sidewalks for a few hours.
Walk accomplished, I then drove 30 minutes out to a friend’s house where we were going to experiment with making frozen yogurt. She threw the door open when I arrived, and announced before I even had a chance to say hello, “Scott says you’re starting to look fat”!
Unlike my husband, who is a super genius, I am not a firm believer in alternative universes. However, for the sake of my story, let’s just say that there are alternate universes, and in one of them, I shouted “Well tell Scott he looks like a pasty, bald, simpering looser who mooches his comfortable lifestyle off of his hard-working wife!” and then I threw my shopping bag full of yogurt and frozen strawberries at his head.
Unfortunately, in this universe, I just stood there with an open mouth for a few seconds, and then said “thanks”.
This isn’t just an angry rant from an offended and reluctant matron (although the rant felt good), after all, in my previous post I confessed that I in fact think I am fat. But please remember my friends, pregnant women are extremely sensitive not only because of our hormones, but because we know already that we’re fat and it pains us. We know that we walk funny, and that we sometimes pass gas, and that our ankles look gross. These things really do bother us. Please keep your mouths shut and let us live in our fragile little shell of denial – it’s this denial that enables us to heave off of the couch, leave the house, and face the world each day.