No lamb, no garden, no immaculate conception but there IS something about me.


World, you got some 'splainin to do

No one told me that when you fall in love you gain weight.

Ok, maybe they did but since I waited until I was 31 to do it the information probably got stuck somewhere in the back of my mind between the perfect way to apply Mac's fluidline and how to ping an IP address to see if it's available (I would rather not have to know that, for the record).

So imagine my surprise when I woke up one day a few weeks ago and was no longer able to slide into any dress in my way-too-extensive BCBG collection. I went on a google spree and it turns out that eating for 2 does not apply to relationships, only for procreation.

I feel so betrayed by Cupid. Don't I get some sort of grace period? I mean, come on! I spent my life waiting for the right one, kicking troll after troll to the curb in a sea of tears and cheap wine so don't I deserve a bag of Doritos or 4 without any consequences?

Turns out the answer is no. So although I do love that little naked dude with the wings and the arrows for bringing me the most fantastic guy for me, I would like to punt him across a football field. If, you know, I had any sort of athletic skill and could perform such a feat. But details.

I'd imagine that this discovery is probably shocking to any woman but given that I spent a year and a half of my life dedicated to losing as much weight as the Olsen twins combined (no joke) it was particularly heartbreaking for me. I worked so damn hard to be a size 4 and all of a sudden it was gone. Then, last week, the unthinkable happened. I was at Lowe's with Alex (my hunk of geeky man love) and the greeter asked us what we were looking for. After cheerfully announcing where we would find cup hooks and astro turf (that's another story) we walked away in search of our prizes and as we did she shouted, "When are you due??!". At first it didn't register that she was directing it at me and the 4 months of love lard that had settled upon my abdomen until she shouted it much more gleefully so I did the only thing I knew how to do. I yelled back, "I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat" and then promptly burst into tears.

Because I'm a crier. And that's how we roll.

To be honest, I knew that I was gaining some weight because I haven't been able to run in months due to some medical issues and I've been eating everything not nailed down driven purely by being in love and the intoxicating draw of high fructose corn syrup but I had no idea how much until then. So here I am, not exactly back to where I started but knowing that it's going to be much more difficult this time. Because the first time it wasn't hard at all and this time...this time there are a lot more obstacles.

The good news is I know that I can do this. I did it before and I'll do it again. It just might be a lot of long, lonely nights mourning the loss of frosting and french fries.


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