Fat Pants

Today I am wearing jeans that were given to me by a co-worker who no longer fits into them. They are her FAT PANTS from right after she GAVE BIRTH TO TWINS. On one hand, this can be considered incredibly disheartening. On the other hand, she’s a a stick figure who wore a size 4 before she had the babies and her fat pants are a size 10. I realize that this isn’t a horrible size to wear and that I’m fine with it for the most part, but at the end of the day they’re still post-twin fat pants. I’m working on it.

I realized that my blah-angsty-ness is coming not from the fat pants but rather from some work-related angst. Things are fine at work, the boss and I are actually getting along for the most part, which, believe me, is to be celebrated. One of the pitfalls of competence is that news of my awesomeness has been greatly exaggerated. As a result, I’m getting a lot of new responsibilities heaped upon me. I’m saying no when I need to, but I’m moving rapidly toward a place where I need to make some career-related decisions here and depending on the direction I go, I’m going to need to take on this new work. This week has included some difficult interactions with both internal and external people and I’m feeling less than competent and I need some reassurance that I’m doing ok and that I can handle what’s going to happen going forward.

That, and I’m wearing fat pants.

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