Over the hump

Over the past few months, I blew up. I got fat. It happened so fast that my body feels alien to me, and I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.

None of my clothes fit anymore. Everything I own is either size 6 or size 8, and impossible to wear. I broke down and bought a pair of size 10 jeans just before Christmas and they were a little tight, but it hurt bad enough to hit double digits and I was damned if I was going to jump up to a size 12.

Now I have to lay across the bed to get my size 10s zipped up.

(Yeah, I hear you, Sherri, playing your violin for me.)

Anyway, I've been noticing something this past week while rocking Britt to sleep -- a big lump of fat at the back of my neck that made it hard to lean my head back against the chair.

OMG, I thought, am I getting a dowager's hump? What the hell's going on? I'm only 43, for Pete's sake! Why is my body betraying me like this?

Well, tonight it finally occurred to me to poke around on the lump, to see what the damage was. So I did.

Turns out the hump wasn't a lump of fat after all. It was just the scrunchie in my hair.

And it only took me three or four days to figure it out.

Scatterbrained much? Who, me?