We moved to Brookfield 4 years ago.
We didn’t know anybody in town, and Number 1 was just starting 7th grade.
In the first few weeks of school, he became friends with a kid, and had gone to his house once.
My husband took him over to the house and picked him up, so I hadn’t met the mom.
Until Open House at the end of September.
She was in amazing shape.
And she knew it.
She flaunted it.
And I hated her.
I have gone to many Open Houses feeling embarrassed.
Huge.
Spending the 45 minutes before leaving
taking a shower,
not having anything to wear that I felt comfortable in,
trying on one unflattering outfit after another,
and attempting unsuccessfully to find an article of clothing that would make my stomach appear 4 sizes smaller than it actually was.
Then rushing to the school,
flustered,
running into the classroom late,
and sitting there,
out of breath.
And sweaty.
And that’s how it was when I met Number 1’s shredded, tank-top wearing, not an ounce of fat one her, friend’s mom.
I was the fat, sweaty mom.
Sitting with the hot, in-shape husband.
Feeling self-conscious,
and embarrassed,
and disappointed in myself.
Wishing I hadn’t let myself get to that point.
Preschool Open Houses are no different.
Actually, they are worse.
Because at almost 44,
I’m old enough to be the mom of some of the other moms there.
So at those Open Houses,
I have sat there,
not only feeling fat and sweaty,
but also old.
Plus,
the chairs there are tiny.
Which makes me feel even more Fat Bastardy.
So Number One’s friend went to private school when they got into high school.
They lost touch.
Yesterday I went to Shop Rite.
And I saw the kid’s mom.
She didn’t really ever give me the time of day before.
She still didn’t yesterday.
She had no idea who the hell I even was.
But I immediately thought about that first time at Open House when I had met her.
How I felt about myself 4 years ago,
and how I feel about myself now.
Night
and
day.
And it’s not just the weight loss.
If you told me 4 years ago that I’d be in the shape I was in now,
that I’d have my own fitness e-course,
that I’d have completed 2 half marathons,
4 triathlons,
and be training for the NYC fucking Marathon,
I’d tell you to go have yourself committed to the nuthouse.
But you would have been right.
And as a result,
this year,
things are different.
Because one day I made one decision.
And I stuck with it.
This year at the Open Houses,
I’m going to be the mom with the visible triceps.
Maybe the mom in shorts.
And a tank top.
When I sit on those little chairs,
most of my ass will fit on them,
instead of spilling over the sides.
If I’m sweating,
it will be out of fear of what Number 4’s teacher is going to say about her.
Not because I’m overweight and out of shape.
For the first time in nine years,
I’m going to walk into an Open House with my head held high.
Feeling strong.
And confident.
And proud.
And yes.
I’m going to walk in there feeling
Dead effing Sexy.
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