Weightly Matters

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I don’t like to talk about my body because, like for many women, it’s a tired topic. Who the F cares. And I have children and I’m determined that not one iota of their being and self-worth is going to hinge on a number on the scale or the BMI index. But also since entering my thirties, I actually don’t care as much: it’s a vehicle, I think I’m attractive, and it’s more about preserving my health as I flow into mid-life.

However, I’ve gained weight throughout the last year (the same weight I lost the year prior). I work in a food smorgasbord (and I perfected a “must take ALL.THE.LEFTOVERS.HOME system by keeping Tupperware in my drawer — fo’ real). Then there’s the weekend bagel bashes, and shared chocolate bars on the couch nightly with eternally-slender Matt. I love food: it’s the perfect accompaniment to all of life’s hues. I love thinking about my next meal. But then my brain did a little pivot when the following happened:

1- “Your tummy is so fluffy!” — Annie’s daycare companion (and, in my book, mean girl)

2- “Congratulations!” exclaimed a co-worker. “On what?” I asked. “On your pregnancy!” she replied. Oh, I’m not pregnant I continued. And this is the kicker: “No, seriously Kathryn, congrats!!!” (Mean girl grown up.)

3- Since I tell everyone everything, I immediately recounted this to every coworker who would listen and agree that I certainly did not look the teeniest bit with child. Then a guy — mid-twenties, didn’t understand the shared pact that you HAVE TO AGREE WITH ME, and replied, “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say pregnant…” (Emphasis on the ellipsis…) Thanks, Jonathan. (Name not changed because you only change names to protect the innocent.)

4- Getting dressed this weekend, Annie asked me why my stomach was so big. I took the opportunity to explain how I carried her and her brother for nine months in that very tummy. I took the opportunity to dispel any notions that a stomach needs to be flat, and that wasn’t it powerful that a women can grow a baby and then feed that baby? I got down on her level and felt very powerful and felt a growing kinship with my little girl. (A lot of our conversations lately have been about how we’re electing a new “king” or “queen” for the United States and how we haven’t had a queen before, and isn’t that, like, ridic? Annie totally agreed.) So here I was, all, I am woman hear me roar!, and she responds with, “Yeah, but, you don’t have Sam or me in your belly now, so why is it still big?” Whomp whomp.

This is all to say to please keep me away from the cupcakes. I’ve only had one Cadbury egg this week (that’s SUCCESS, damnit!) so I think I’m well on my way to Gisele Bundchen-ness (or, more likely her mother…or grandmother…).

In other news, we took a side off of Sam’s crib to make it into a daybed. He was very excited until we heard a loud, resounding (and I swear, house-shaking) thud at 1 am that night. Since our parenting skills are top notch, we didn’t place anything near the crib opening after the first fall (it’s like a mere foot, relax). So, you know, another thud was heard at 4 am. (There’s now a large chair there but we’re replacing the missing crib side because he’s been waking up throughout the night.)

In Annie news, she is getting sassy and much prefers Matt to the likes of me. For example, the other day we had a gun discussion with her (you know, if you ever come across one, don’t touch it, tell an adult, and all that jazz). Later in the day when I chastised her for back talking and asked her why we were butting heads so much, she said, “Don’t worry, Mommy. I still love you. I mean, I love you more than a gun.” It was just as sinister as it sounds, people.

On Matt news, he started a job that HAS A MILKSHAKE MACHINE. For free! Obviously, I harangued him each and every day for a milkshake. He was all like, “I don’t understand, how am I supposed to bring that home? Wouldn’t it melt?” I told him these are simple logistics and honestly, they’re pitiful excuses because if he just got it RIGHT BEFORE HE LEFT it would be OK for his thirty-minute commute. Notice how I haven’t mentioned anything else about Matt’s new job because it’s completely irrelevant when there is a free milkshake machine involved. And don’t you dare mention my promise to eat healthier. Free milkshakes trump everything.

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