The downside of weight loss

I’m just going to blurt it out. I need new bras, you guys, because I’ve lost 40 pounds, and I’m pretty sure most of it came off my boobs. Oh, to be sure, it has disappeared from other places too – my face shape is changing – I’m down a chin!

But seriously, why can’t the inches disappear from my stomach instead of my chest? WHY? Bras are one of those things that you have to try on at the store, too, which means I can’t just online shop myself to victory. No, I have to go into one of those fitting rooms with terrible lighting and fun-house mirrors and wedge the girls into spandex and lace contraptions that will make the most of my newly less-abundant bazooms.

So, you know, if you happen by a fitting room in the next few days, and hear a woman softly crying and singing Lift Us Up Where We Belong to her chest, say hi.

 

Just run me over now.

My son just passed his driver’s permit test, and that means that I have two student drivers in the family, neither of which are particularly interested in driving, but it is HAPPENING.  So many life lessons happening around this, too. First of all, my oldest had a permit that she held so long with so few hours of practice that it expired, and we have to redo the process. My son decided that he could just wing it on permit test day last week, and ended up flunking the test. He was able to retest and pass today, but he’s learning, once again, that studying actually helps. Who knew, right?

I assumed that my husband would be the one taking the kids to drive, as he tends to roll with more risky stuff than I do, but he apparently can’t handle the stress of it all. No, he can’t handle it, so I’m the one white-knuckling it in the passenger seat, doing Lamaze breathing and wracking my brain for driving routes with generous right-hand shoulders and moderate speed limits.

I need these kids driving, because I am really darn tired of being the solution that helps them get from point A to points B and beyond. They have a car waiting for them in the driveway. They just need to embrace the call of the road.

Even with the absolute desire on my part for the kids to be independently mobile, and wishing that I had a more relaxed approach to teaching them to drive, I’m still not exactly well-equipped. My jaw is aching from clenching my teeth and stretching my face into a tight, fake smile while my daughter navigates her way around the neighborhood, one jerky turn at a time. I can only imagine what my son’s first jaunts will unleash. I am already going gray. Perhaps I will be bald.

 

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