I will never let another pair of pants tell me I’m fat again.
This from the mouth of my friend Rachael, as she speared another piece of perfectly roasted cauliflower off of the plate in front of us. We met for drinks, Rachael and I, and as the fathers of our children readied our kids for bed, we ordered another cocktail.
I eyed that tiny plate of cauliflower with resentment. It was so good. And there was so little. What a tease tapas can be.
R’s declaration convinced me of what I already knew—I must go buy new jeans.
Oh, the ever changing expanse of the post partum body. I’ve been rail thin with huge boobs to very squishy and everything in between. The rail-thinness was the product of exhaustion, depression, and breastfeeding in my first four months with Jo. I remember being stunned by the sight of…
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