I am a woman of a certain age. By "certain age," I mean that I am somewhere between my mid-20s and my mid-30s... the age when suddenly, seemingly within a few months, you go from being happily a singleton in a sea of singletons, to being the lone singleton in a sea of married, home owning, baby-bearing friends. For me, it had been creeping up slowly over the past two years, and it reached a breaking point this past week when one of my friends told me she was pregnant with her second and when my work tried to pressure me into opening a college account for my yet-unborn children.
The motivation behind this post? When I tried to create my fancy little weight loss widget you see over to the right, I was faced with the fact that something like 99% of widgets like that are baby-countdowns. NOT YET, people, NOT YET. I may have what looks like baby weight, but it's actually cheesesteak weight.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"