Working out my issues

Doctor’s orders to exercise more came not a moment too soon. First, it’s 100-and-ball-sweat degrees outside, so I’ve been living in dresses, and the insides of my thighs look like I have fucking scabies. (And there’s still a whole lotta East Coast summer to go.)

But also, someone just sent me photos from the family barbecue — there’s one of me holding Baby Cousin, and it looks like I’m ready to birth his next playmate. Nope. Nooope. 

(I mean, I did get hit on that day, so I couldn’t have looked THAT bad. But dude also seemed very surprised I didn’t have kids, so maybe I just have a stereotypical “Mom Bod” now? Outstanding.)