This is my favorite thing to reply when asked a not so favorite question, “When are you due?”
For years and years, I’ve been asked this question. From a salesperson at a big box store to the AT&T guy fixing my iPhone. Really? Why do you care? Do you think you might be the dad? Are you sending me a gift? I like gifts. I don’t have to be pregnant for you to impose such generosity. Fat girls like gifts, too, ya know?
I only look pregnant because I have small boobs. Well, ok, small boobs AND a pretty big belly. If I drank beer, I’d probably call it a beer-belly. It’s kind of huge, maybe even a keg-belly. Like, I have a six-pack but it’s just poured all in and not arranged in a neat-aluminum-can kind of display.
I’ve not always been fat. In fact, I’m not even supposed to be this big but something in my life went awry. I think it was food and lack of exercise, but that’s just a guess. (when I graduated high school, I weighed a measly 98lbs and no! I wasn’t anorexic or bulimic or on drugs…small frame on a stretch of about 5′ 3/4″ though I round up to 5’2”)
I like food and I like to not exercise. I’m the norm I think. I just don’t have the self-discipline to follow through with any plan I’ve tried. I hate the word diet. Don’t we all?
So, there, you have it. I’m not pregnant. I am Five Months Fat…and lazy, and a lover of food. But there’s so much more to me than that. I’m sure you feel the same way.
Today, I’ve decided that I don’t care anymore. Gosh, prior to today, most would say I had decided a long time ago to stop caring. There’s a hint of truth there. I didn’t and I don’t care. Today, I’ve sorta made it public. I don’t care. I am going to enjoy being the fun, fabulous, geeky, smart, dynamic girl I have learned to love and if I lose some weight and learn some techniques on conquering my hatred of self-discipline, then that’s a plus! I’m good.