The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: A Three-Part Series

Here's the bad: I just blew out thirty-eight candles as they flickered perilously atop my Wegman's chocolate fudge birthday cake. I nearly set the kitchen on fire. Like most women before me, I always insisted it wouldn't be me wearing mom jeans and cutting my hair off like a man's and getting all frumpy and saggy. I haven't gotten a buzz cut yet, and I don't even know where you buy those dreadful mom jeans, but woe is me, I'm feeling chubby these days.

It all started with a little cherub named Charlie. I turned thirty-six a month after Charlie was born, and for 18 months I nursed him, knowing he was my last little babe and wanting to enjoy every bit of our time together. I went for my annual checkup when he was about a year old, and when I got on the scale I noticed that that stupid silver marker thingy had to slide a wee bit further than usual to balance, but I convinced myself it was because I was still nursing and decided not to fret. And by not fret I mean I sauntered around the block once or twice and then went home for a giant bowl of ice cream. I was nourishing a child, after all! (A child who by this time was eating his weight in pizza, but that's beside the point.)

Right before we moved to New York I went in for another checkup. I had been done nursing for nearly six months, and Charlie was about to turn two. As I headed toward the scale I started stripping down, casually trying to dump my purse, coat, and shoes without looking like I was trying too hard. The nurse noticed. "You wanna take those earrings off too?" she asked with a wink. I almost reached over and pinched her.  That marker thingy seemed to slide forever, and the long and short of it is that I've gained a good six or seven permanent pounds over the course of the last few years. That may or may not sound like a lot to you, but here's the thing: I've been the same size and weight since I was in the 9th grade. I made it through the freshman fifteen unscathed; I made it through four months of bedrest unscathed; I made it through a twin pregnancy unscathed. But it does not appear that I am going to make it through my thirties unscathed.

Check in tomorrow for the ugly :-).