"He's THAT FAT? Lord!"
So texts my oldest friend--
one of the dearest,
not known for her couth,
and oft-appreciated for her candor.
Pulled over in parking lot of Lord & Taylor
on a stormy Saturday,
I smile at the screen of my cell phone
and am not surprised.
Nor am I offended--
no, she lives too deeply in my soul for that.
I stopped being offended probably in 1983.
That being said, she does not know
how I sometimes worry about his weight...
as I continue to endure a different kind of wait.
Nor does she know about the comments ("overweighted" and "big baby")
that the doctors consistently add into the Notes section of every medical report we've gotten.
She does not know that a few weeks ago, I called my pediatrician friend
in a panic, only to be quickly reassured when he laughed and said, "Kathleen, he's FINE. No, you do not need to worry about diabetes, for God's sake!"
I have since stopped being so ridiculous.
What else is there to do while we wait for him to come home?
Trying not to let worry top the list.
But it's tough.
Meanwhile, back at Lord & Taylor...after a tangent that I could not possibly have predicted...
Raindrops pick up their dance on the windshield
as I text her back, reminding her
not to bother with size 3-6M, or 6-9M, or even 12M.
Heck, just go for the 18M or 2T.
And I think how wonderful it is that our friendship is so solid that
I can essentially ask her to buy my son clothing,
even to the point of suggesting sizes.
She is kind of like a second sister.
All these years of supplementing and complementing
(and separating, when necessary, back in the catfight days of high school) Ann Marie and me like a necessary third arm or an extra dose of Vitamin C.
Oh, she is so good for me.
Kind of like avocadoes, or almonds.
High in fat, but the good, healthy kind of fat.
The kind that sustains you, strengthens you, helps you to be whole.
And when I do worry about his weight (as opposed to the "other" wait) more than I should,
I just think to myself,
"All the more Matthew to love."