I spent the day with extended family, which first means I can’t handle anymore noise and am incapacitated in silence on the couch. But it also means I spent the day being lauded for being “so petite!” and looking “so cute in skinny jeans!” Because apparently that’s an achievement. “I could never wear those, I’d look like a beached whale!”
Oh, it’s TOTES easy, you guys. All you have to do is upend your entire adult life: lose two consecutive jobs; get your heart broken twice (once in love, once in friendship); move apartments twice; doubt your overall worth; get fat; see therapists you can’t really afford; get prescribed drugs that make you lose your previously voracious appetite; get thin because you’re eating half as much; and constantly worry that even this tiny rug of vague stability you’ve managed to weave for yo’ damn self is going to be pulled out from under you.
In the words of Elle Woods: “What, like it’s hard?”
I don’t know why I waste my time on my silly blog when I could clearly be writing the next big self-help book.
I was also told how “natural” I looked holding Baby Cousin, and got the “Maybe you’ll change your mind someday, you never know.” Um, well, first, I’m 40 and single, so time’s a wastin’, and second, I was sure enough to end a decade-long relationship over the matter, which you’re aware of, so I think I’m set. Thanks for the reminder, though. And also you’re a dick.
Besides, in our family, being skinny vs. breeding seems very much an either/or situation. I’m gonna need you to prioritize your pressure. If I’m understanding correctly, being fat is acceptable as long my fat is the result of creating a person? But it’s not cool if it’s just a food baby?