What they didn’t know about was the tearful frustration of a teenage girl who wanted to look cute in clothes that were always too short everywhere—sleeves, legs—or hung like a tent when going up a size. It was incorrectly assumed that I must be an expert at basketball and volleyball, but when the cat was out of the bag, I would hang my head in shame.
Whenever I meet someone new, my first question isn’t Do you have kids? it’s How many kids do you have? All the other friendship qualities seem to take a backseat.
But, strangely enough, I haven’t yet admitted this to any of my mommy friends. Why? Have I done something wrong? Should I feel ashamed?