The Jig Is Up

A mere two months ago, I had eschewed all desserts and sugary beverages in my best attempt to stay the right size for my wedding dress. A few too many bon bons and that sucker was not gonna zip. But once Sam and I arrived at our luxurious resort in St. Lucia, appetizers, fruity drinks and desserts became de rigeur. I made up for what I had gone months without in a mere ten days.
Since our return, not much has changed. Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream is my friend; watching back-to-back episodes of the Office til my eyeballs hurt and snuggling with my honey continue to sound so much more appealing than venturing into the nippy out of doors. I really identify with the concept of hibernation. And then today, a reality check from the most unlikely of places. I have a part time job doing therapy with kids with autism, and as I was leaving a little girl's house today, her older eight-year-old sister was trying to get my attention. "Hey, hey, hey. Hey! hey," she called persistently. I introduced myself (this was the first time we'd met) and chatted with her about Thanksgiving, her new talking dog toy. Then she busts out with "Have you had any babies yet?" I smiled at the mom, and at said eight-year-old girl, thinking, how charming, kids at this age and their lack of filter, she's seen my sparkly new wedding ring, has put two and two together, and wants to know about my family. "No I haven't, not yet," I smiled widely at the delightful conversation I thought was about to unfold. "Oh," she says, "Cause you're really getting kind of fat." WONDERFUL! I watched her mother's eyes grow wide with terror, and she goes on and on about how rude that was and that I wasn't fat at all. I was one part amused and two parts horrified. I found myself actually trying to reason with her, to help her realize she'd made a mistake. "I'm wearing a really big sweater," I explained. She stared back at me blankly. "I probably have gained a little weight since my honeymoon," I heard myself tell her, while vowing to myself to take more walks and start yoga up again this week, for real this time. So thank you, eight year old girl who shall remain nameless, for saying what most friends would not. I look forward to our next interaction, when you may comment on the slightly outdated cut of my pant leg, or my shaggy unkempt brow.