Old Friends, Insecurities, and Waaay too Much Information

Can you imagine anything worse than seeing your old high school boyfriend four months after giving birth? Yes. How about when he just married a woman 10 years your junior? I mean, when she talks about crow's feet, she is actually referring to the anatomy of the bird whereas I am discussing a relatively new feature of my face.

But, as it turned out, she and I do have one thing in common. We both did something really physical in the last year. They ran a triathlon together, and I pushed something the size of a watermelon out of my woohoo. Of course her physical activity probably left her with a six pack and mine left me with a stomach pooch that in all likelihood I will never get rid of, but...whatever.

It isn't at all that I wanted to work any subtle charms on the old him; it's just that I don't want to be thought of as a dodged bullet. No woman, at least one that's honest, wants to be seen with a sense of relief, as in, "Wow! Glad I didn't get stuck with that one."

And these are the thoughts that I was dealing with as we all stood together visiting in my home town: me, Mr. Wicke, our children, said high school boyfriend, his wife, his brother, his brother's wife, their kids...you get the idea. As happy as I always am to see them, it is a group that is bound to bring up some insecurities, which I was doing my best to put behind me when Logan stood in front of me, poked me in the belly, and said, very loudly, "Your tummy's squishy."

Awkward pause inserted here.

Clearly it was up to me to break the silence. "Isn't she cute?" I laughed. And to her, "That's because there was a baby in there four months ago. Now go play."

Ahh, children. Why is it that they choose to be honest at the most inconvenient times? As the conversation continued, I considered this as well as the cost of renewing my gym membership, but then two things occurred to me: 1) I really hate the gym, and 2) the money might be better invested in a muzzle.