I took son #2 for an Occupational Therapy evaluation yesterday. We’ve been on this waiting list for about two years (OTs are in HIGH demand here *cry*) and finally, we got called.

Over the past 4 years, I’ve been in and out of this clinic with son #2 for OT, PT and speech, so I know quite a few of the people who work there on a “waiting room basis.” This waiting room has been a central point in my life for a long time. I even wrote a short story about it. Its about 20 ft x 10 ft and its generally full of moms and siblings waiting for their child to enter or exit the rooms in the back. This is not a large waiting room.

In the middle of the waiting room is the reception desk, flanked on each side by benches and a little play area for the kids where all the moms sit. I was standing at the window, apologizing for forgetting a piece of paper, when I hear in a loud, Boston accent, “OH MY GOD LOOK AT YOU! WHAT HAPPENED?!?!”

I turned to see our old speech therapist standing there, in shock… looking at me. Then I noticed that all of the moms were staring at me. The kids were staring at me. I’m pretty sure even the screen saver on the receptionist’s computer was staring at me. It was the unavoidable call of “PLEASE STARE AT THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW WITH 200 CHILDREN, NO DOCTOR’S ORDER TO BE HERE AND WHO MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE LOST A BUNCH OF WEIGHT SINCE THE LAST TIME I SAW HER!”

Yes, I wanted to die. And, yes, I’ve lost weight and that is great. I’m not exactly proud, but accepting that the months of stress-induced nausea caused a physical transformation of my body, rendering it smaller and much saggier than ever. Apparently, I had a butt, because now it slides down my upper thighs in kind of an Emo way, saying, “You never really loved me, nobody loved me. I hate you!”

So, mortified, I responded about how running after 200 kids will keep your eating in check, and that I was completely willing to donate a few kids if she wanted to try my fitness plan. Ha ha, I’m a funny lady! Her every response was loud, my face turned bright red, I couldn’t even look at her. It was horribly funny (in retrospect) and something I plan to do to the next person I’m reunited with in a small space. I’m just going to pay it forward. Speech lady, you made my day. Kinda.

Just so we’re all prepared, next week, I plan to parade around in a spinach bikini. I’m just keepin’ it real, yo.