I bumped into a former classmate at a restaurant the other day. We didn't speak. I'm pretty sure it's because of the nasty note I wrote about her in fifth grade comparing her to a sea creature.
I'm sorry, okay?
Looking back, maybe it wasn't a coincidence Mom started homeschooling me after that.
Anyway, she (and the rest of the peeps my age) are home from college on break. I would describe her as a typical American college student.
So there's her.
And there's me.
Same age ...
Except I am five months pregnant (not yet whale size, but probably up to small orca classification), sweating profusely due to another Hoover Dam hot flash. And I am VERY uncomfortable. Mostly because I unknowingly dropped a gummy bear down my cleavage during second breakfast (it's a thing) and it is starting to melt ...
I am also holding a cracker-covered one-year-old who appears to be having an intense conversation with the window valance.
I feel ... embarrassed. Not just because my lady lumps are getting stuck together with lime green gelatinous goop, but because of the unconventional choices I've made. The BIG choices. Getting married, having a kid, having ANOTHER kid, et cetera. I didn't do the "socially acceptable" thing, and that scared me ... for a minute.
So I thought about it and I came to this conclusion:
The only thing that is going to matter when you reach the end of your life is that you can live with the choices you've made.
I'm happy with my life.
So, be forewarned, next person who says to me, "You're pregnant AGAIN!?! Oh my GAWD."
I won't hesitate to chase you around Wal-Mart with pool noodles whilst screaming "THIS IS SPARTA!"
If I'm going to be "socially unacceptable", I'm gonna do it right.