"I feel fat." Susan thought. "I feel like motherhood got the best of me. I always said, even when I was a teenager, that I would be a fit mom, that I would be active. I fantasized jogging with the dog, getting the kids a membership with the pool and swimming there, and taking the kids on hikes. But none of that happened. I don't even own any gym wear. I don't own a sports bra, a pair of leggings, or one of those portable water bottles. What I do have is ten years of weight on me. I have a belly, and a real belly too. Not a post-pregnancy belly, or a holiday season belly. I have a fat girl belly. I can hide four fingers underneath the fat that rolls over my pants. My breasts are astonishingly big. If my teenage self, with her B cups could see me now, sporting a G cup, what would she think? I can't shop at Victoria's Secret for bras. I have upgraded to the plus size stores now."
BANG BANG BANG
"Susie, pancakes are getting cold! We're eating without you." Greg said through the door.
"Despite this, I am going to go downstairs and stuff my face. I know it. I feel it. I can feel the pancakes in my cheeks and the butter in my gut. I am a pancake eater. That is who I am. The idea of not eating them, not eating a stack, and somehow eating a yogurt or piece of celery, is an idea I think only an alien could entertain. I am not skinny. Maybe a skinny person can look at celery and think, "Good food." I can't. I'm fat and I'm going to eat no matter what. That is a fact. Okay blouse, let's see if we can last another day."
Susan pressed her hands into her belly, took a deep breathe and went downstairs to eat.
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