Sorry I have been out of commission for another week. Our guest just left yesterday. The plan was for her to stay for 3 or 4 days. She was so comfortable that she never left. Not that this is a bad thing. But, it's tough in a small apartment with a teething 11 month old. Millie was absolutely charming on Sunday and Monday. Crying. Whining. Throwing herself on the ground for a temper tantrum. Is she turning one or two in two weeks? Sunday it was largely due to her teething, I think. She had enough drool to thwart the drought at UConn, was holding her mouth, and gnawing on anything that stood still long enough to be chomped. She broke my heart. By Monday, I think it was a combination of that, the disruption of a guest being in the house for so long (although she was fairly unobtrusive), and, what was the other thing....? Oh, RIGHT. A total of 2 hours of naptime since Friday. That's right. Four days of 1/2 hour naps. Total. Per day. My middle brother stopped napping at all by the time he was a year old. And at 6:50 every single night, no matter what he was doing, where we were, or if anyone was doing anything to set him off, he's throw himself on the ground and kick and scream. You could set your watch by it. Please, God, don't let Millie be a Mini-Mark when it comes to that.
Or, part of her problem could have been that I was in total poor self-esteem mode and she picked up on that. Our visiting friend is one of the most sincere people I know, lacking a hurtful bone in her entire body. She is also about half my body weight, is always dressed JUST SO, even when we used to go to the school gym, perfect boobs, no waist, perfect hair. One of those women who are constantly putting on lipgloss with just a bit of sparkle to it. She's intelligent, witty, talented and driven. If I didn't love her so much, I'd hate her everliving guts. She has always had a way, I believe inadvertently, of making me feel like a cow. Or should I say, I have always had a way of making myself feel like a cow around her. The first day back, she went to Dunkin' Donuts and Victoria's Secret (I TOLD you I should, by all intents and purposes, hate her. A woman who can chow down two donuts in a sitting and then fit into a size 2 at VS....arrgggg.). When she returned, she showed me a set of things she got from there with a cupcake motif. How ironic....a store that doesn't sell anything over a size 8 featuring CUPCAKES on their panties. Hmmm. Anywho. After the second trip she took there, she showed me the "jogging" pants she got, which were clearly not for jogging but for lounging around the house waiting for George Clooney to show up. The conversation went downhill from there:
Weary traveller: Hey, why don't you go to Victoria's Secret? They are having a big sale on their Pink line.
Me: Um, no, that's okay.
Weary traveller: The sales are crazy! You have to go. They have panties on sale, 3 for $25.
Me (to myself): I can get a 6 pack of panties for $10 at Kohl's that actually fit my fat arse. I can't afford groceries. Do you really think I'm going to spend $25 on three pairs of underwear?
Me (to Weary traveller): Um, nah. That's alright.
Weary traveller: Why not?
Me: Because I can't fit into their clothes.
Weary traveller: What do you mean? Yes you could.
Me (choking back tears): Uh. No, I can't. Maybe if you sewed three or four pieces together.
Weary traveller: Not even in a large?
Me (still choking back tears, but not so successfully this time): Nope.
Weary traveller (holding up a teeny tiny t-shirt): Oh, come on, THIS is an extra small and it's huge. You could fit into a medium, don't you think?
Me: Nope. (shutting off the light so she can't see me attempting not to cry)
Weary traveller: Oh. Well, maybe after the baby is older and you have more time to work out...
My husband (aka my hero, trying to change the subject): SO, did you guys get out and enjoy the fresh air today?
So, I spent the next two days not eating and feeling completely Jabba the Hut-ish. My husband, God bless him, spent the next two days trying to convince me that I looked nothing like Jabba the Hut. All with a houseguest that wouldn't leave, all in a tiny apartment. So, perhaps that was part of Millie's problem, also. Or maybe she was just teething and tired.
Labels: fat, houseguests, visitors