Important note: Yesterday I was all braggy about how I’ve lost 35 pounds since January 1st and I’ve been exercising, blah blah. Apparently this is my punishment for being boastful.
Last night was the dress rehearsal for my daughter’s dance recital. Somehow, one of my cousins suckered me into being a “parent-helper” with her.
Basically, the 2 of us are in charge of 16 2-4 year olds. Our only job?
Keep them quiet.
For the 2 hour recital.
I love their dance teacher but I’m pretty sure that she is on crack if she thinks that 2 adults can keep 16 teeny little girls quiet for more than 2 seconds.
I will be sure to let you know if I survive the recital this weekend.
But last night went mostly okay-ish. We had our share of meltdowns amongst the girls but we all survived.
As I was rounding up girls after their final number, trying to ensure that they each had the right costume piece (they did) and that they went home with the correct parent (I think most of them did), one of the girls tugged on my scrub top.
I look down and, as sweetly as I can muster say, “Yes?”
“Is there a baby in there?” as she pointed to my stomach.
And in that moment, I realized that no matter how hard I work and how much of a bad ass I think I am, the painful truth comes leaping out of the mouth of a 4-year-old because I wore a scrub top that had a tie in the back, so it made me look pregnant.
I mostly just laughed her off and said, “Oh, no. There’s no baby in there right now!”
“Huh. It sure looks like it to me!”
Salt. Into. The. Wound.
Clearly I’m burning that scrub top and going to double my run today.