I’ve been complaining so much about my stomach that I thought I would focus on more positive things about my body. Miracles, really.
I’ve gotten taller.
Not driver’s license taller where they ask how tall I am and I say 5’6 because my dentist once predicted I would be that tall from a x-ray he took just before I got braces in fifth grade but actually I stopped growing a year later. I finally gave up in 2006 and put my average and accurate 5’4 on my driver’s license because if I was to fall unconscious, they would be looking for the very tall Alex Iwashyna to find my emergency contact. But I went to the doctor and measured 5’4 and a three-quarters-of-an-inch. I’ve either gotten taller in the last year or rulers have been affected by the recession. Also, in 2016, I’m so rounding up at the DMV mostly to allow EMTs to do their job.
My boobs grew.
No, I’m not pregnant, but there’s a story whispered among first time pregnant moms after the reassurance that some women’s breast stay the same after birth and breastfeeding. That alone is a miracle these other more experienced moms admonish with a wag of their finger. There are moms whose boobs get smaller. Well, I didn’t think I could go back to training bras so I told them to STOP TALKING IMMEDIATELY. But one mom said that there’s a mom of a mom of a mom friend whose boobs got bigger after having babies. Not flatter. Not medically induced. They just got bigger. Like thank you notes on her chest. Well, I am that mom friend. Ever since my second pregnancy, my cup size keeps increasing like I’m wearing the national debt on my chest.
Clearly, I’m in a second adolescence at 34 years old.
That would also explain my deep understanding of Congress, my love of my blog, and why I spent yesterday reading xoJane. This stomach thing is probably just nerves about prom and if Scott likes me or LIKE likes me.