Battle of the Bulge

I am not happy with myself today. Everything looks wrong on me. I’m still without a waistline. My clothes are so tight today I feel like a stuffed sausage, and I just spilled my damn coffee on a new shirt. Good thing it’s black.

I changed my shirt three times this morning and I’m still not satisfied.

You’d never know it now, but in my youth, I had a tiny waist. I think I blew it out completely when I had Aislyn. I don’t blame the pregnancy, though. I didn’t have to gain as much weight as I did. I had even gained 30 pounds in the months preceding that pregnancy. I was 215 when I had her.

Some women are afraid having kids will ruin their bodies. It does change you. But I’d rather have kids than a perfect body, I guess. Your looks eventually go away, anyway.

I don’t have varicose veins, or very many stretch marks that I’m aware of.

And although I had a tiny waist in my teens and twenties, I also had no boobs.

I lint-rolled the couch and I’m still covered in white cat hair.

Speaking of rolling, Desmond asked his Magic 8 Ball yesterday if he would Rick-roll his class. It’s moments like these that make all the extra “baggage” totally worth it.

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