Old Big Shorts

I had a baby a few months ago, and then I had a long, enduring ordeal with him in the NICU for 2 1/2 months.

And then I spent what seemed like every second of my time taking the baby and Asher to doctor and therapy appointments for the first couple of months after Meyer got out of the hospital.

I couldn’t have dreamed of working out.

So I am not thin right now.

And of course it bothers me.

But does my 4-year-old have to get in on the act?

Last night, I was folding some clothes and as I shook out a pair of my shorts and then held them in front of me to fold, Asher looks up from the bathtub and says, “Are those daddy’s pants?”

“No,” I said. “These are mommy’s shorts.”

Just a beat passes, in which I can feel something horrible coming on.

And then he says, “Sooo big!”

I immediately dropped the shorts to the floor and dove head-first into my bed.

And bit my pillow.

Asher came into the bedroom to ask why I was laughing.

And then he saw the tears in my eyes and wanted to know if I was crying.

I told him truthfully that I had laughed so hard, there were tears in my eyes.

I wasn’t crying.

At least on the outside.