P,

Falling as it does on the heels of your oldballandchain’s recent exodus on business, one might say your recent fall from grace simply replaced one obsession for another.  For a woman claiming to have an insatiable appetite, I find your professed lack of restraint charming and, quite clearly, the reason for your waiflike appearance.  As I watch hubby struggle to replace a recently discarded vice with food and other more carnal activities (reminds me of our dog before his recent neutering), I wonder whether the old habit was, in fact, such a bad one.  I will not, therefore, disclose, dear P, how often most indulge in the passions of which you speak.  You would, I’m afraid, be mortified by our lack of discipline.  Carry on, dear P, and I will send hubby down to help you through this difficult time.

Faithfully,

C. 

Dear C,

Well, my friend, it’s happened again. There I was, minding my own business at the hair salon, when out of the blue, the guy cutting my hair casually asks:
‘So, when’s the baby due?’  Now a much smarter, braver and quicker-thinking woman would have instantly responded:
‘Six and a half years ago, you insensitive [bleep].’ But I am not that kind of woman, I am sorry to say. I am much more the kind who bites her tongue, fights back tears and then takes it out on her husband and children for the rest of the day (or their entire natural lives, whichever is shorter). Which is why, dear C, instead of slapping the guy round the face, I simply mumbled something instead about it being ‘early days yet.’  Next time I see him, of course, I will have to make up some story about the alarming increase in baby theft; either that, or the high price babies fetch in the white slave trade. My question for you now, dear C, is this: is it worth swallowing my pride for the sake of a decent haircut, or should I simply go ahead with my  plan to run over his cat and poison the dog by nightfall? My family’s future depends on your response.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

My darling woman, I sometimes wonder why our Creator asks so much of you.  One person can really only bear so much and She must know that.  I only hope you immediately sought stress relief at the hands of a masseuse and drowned your sorrows in a strong cup of tea.  I know, unfortunately, that the oldballandchain might not be counted on to remind you of your svelte physique (as he secretly wonders how he has kept so stunning a woman all these years) and other measures must be taken in order to correct this problem at this source (and in no way am I suggesting pilates).

It is abundantly clear that said hairdresser has never in his life wooed a woman.  He would otherwise clearly abide by the "unless a woman is in active labor and you see the head of a baby crowning" you don’t ask about it.  This, I’m certain, provides little comfort.  I think, however, you would ultimately find little satisfaction in poisoning innocent animals and stalking behavior (although this approach is not to be discounted in other instances).  It is much better, I think, to share the blessing with him.  Next time you are at the salon (and I assume by your stunning crown of glory there is no option to change hairdressers), simply mention how the baby is ready for the adoption.  Tell him you assumed his prescience at so early a time in the pregnancy made him magnificently qualified to care for a child you just were not sure you could bear.  Mention gravely that his comment made you know there was no choice but to have the baby and allow your gene pool to flourish in his hands.  If you think this may not provide the intended panic followed by (in order of preference): destruction, mayhem or wild hysteria, you might have one or two of your current cherubs tag along and ask them to display behavior our children seem to relish in so public a place (in order of preference): destruction, mayhem, or wild hysteria. 

Faithfully,

C.

C,

Weighing protocol:

Warning! Before ascending scales, make sure you have read the following: Only weigh self first thing in the morning, after stripping off all clothing and peeing. This latter is extremely important. Also, do not weigh self after consuming birth control pill, as those things weigh a ton.

Step 1: Alight on scales, but only with big toe of right foot. If results look bad, immediately jump off. Do not repeat. Wait to catch stomach flu before attempting again.

Step 2: If results from Step 1 look good, you have the go-ahead for final ascent. Suck in stomach, and think light. Flapping arms in imitation flight may also help. If results look bad, do not spiral down into existentialist despair. Instead, calmly step off and blame goddamn cheap, poorly calibrated scales. Do not, whatever you do, invest in more accurate set.

Step 3: Ditto, if results look good. Immediately dismount and do not step back on to verify results. Yes, it probably isn’t possible to lose ten pounds in one day, merely by foregoing nightly bowl of ice-cream. But remember, you are what you think, not what you eat. Immediately celebrate by consuming entire tub of ice-cream, just to get it out of harm’s way.

Step 4: Do not weigh self again for at least another six months.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

I recently found my younger son stark naked, standing on his tippy toes and swearing on the scale.  He said that’s what he saw mommy do and it was important to get it right.  And their pediatrician worries for them?

Although I commend your technique (flapping one’s arms is, dare I say it, brilliant!), don’t overlook the important step of turning out the light before stepping on the scale.  Who wants to look at one’s naked hungry surly self in the bathroom mirror at such an unpleasant moment? 

It is also essential, I think, to consider viewing Extreme Makeover with one’s children to help them recognize that certain nips and tucks may make an obession with such protocols unnecessary.  Always thinking of them,  aren’t we, dear P?   

Faithfully,

C.