That’s not very nice, I know. But, it is also how I feel.
I have a friend who’s been battling anorexia for years. She is smart, a mom, married to a military officer, and when I saw her last, I could count the tiny bones running down her spine.
It wasn’t pretty. Or glamorous or even vaguely attractive. I heard the whispers behind her as concerned relatives pulled her husband aside and asked about her.
“Under 100,” he answered quietly. We looked at her 5 foot 6 inch frame and wondered how much under 100.
Why am I mad? Because she’s pregnant again.
And I remember other babies lost. Another time when she was strapped to a hospital bed to force her to feed her son via IVs, who was born too soon.
Why am I pissed? Because I’m worried about her. And her new baby. And the little ones already at home.
And if I’m honest, because I remember my own little one, caught in the destructive path of my own eating disorder. Born too soon, but missed all the same.
on the journey,