I like to think I am something of a late bloomer.
I spent my life being told I was twiggy. That I needed some fat on my bones. That I should eat more.
Then suddenly this stomach came to live with me. It lies next to me when I am sleeping and doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving.
Yesterday this stomach was even the topic of conversation at work:
General manager: Olaina, you have such a cute little belly.
Me: It's gigantic.
Manager: It is not.
Me: It's like a little kid's belly. Or a slightly pregnant woman.
GM: No, it's cute. It's there, but it's so little.
Manager: It's a compliment.
GM: Yeah. It's hard to say without sounding funny.
Me: OK. I'll take it as a compliment.
It used to be a compliment that I was too skinny. I had a flat stomach that looked OK when I wore fitted shirts. Now I have a conversation-worthy stomach. The bizarre part, to me, is that just one year ago I still had that waifish look. Of course, I was never hungry then and I was doing yoga at least twice a week, sometimes twice a day. Then I started taking a medicine that made me fantasize about grilled cheese sandwiches when I was lying in bed, trying to sleep.
Maybe that's why this neighborhood is going to pot.