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"Must be nice not to obsess about your figure,"
comments the playgroup mom sharing my beach towel at the edge of the sand box, nodding toward my half-eaten peanut butter sandwich and bag of Cheetos. "I will lose these last five baby pounds within the next month if it kills me," she laughs.
She's noticeably thinner than I. Anyone—and certainly she—can see that. I flash what I hope is a convincing smile, but I mean it with all the sincerity of Kaa, that slippery snake in The Jungle Book.
Staring at my son sifting pebbles and pine needles from the sand through his chubby fingers, I instinctively strike back. A fellow mom, I know just where it hurts: I play the breastfeeding card on this known formula feeder. "Oh, my little guy needs the calories and protein I give him when I breastfeed. I guess I feel like it's my duty to put him first and my weight goals on the back burner for now." Take that, I think, punctuating my victory with a crunch of a Cheeto.
But the win is a hollow one, and moments later I wish I could bury my head in that warm, glistening sand.... [full text available on request] |
