Child, that is. My best friend from high school. The one who doesn't even have custody of her oldest child. The one who will have 4 children ages 4 and under. The one who throws the older ones off on her mom every chance she gets. The one who does good to just take care of herself. I spent snack time at vbs feeding a 2-year-old, holding/feeding a 5-month-old, and trying to eat my spaghetti, surrounded by women talking about pregnancy and babies and planning for the next baby like I plan for my next day off. Honestly, I made it fine feeding the three of us, and I was glad for the distraction it created so I didn't feel like I had to participate in the conversation.
And this, my friends, is what happens when I start thinking I'm in a better place.* And when I try to cut down on soft drinks and snacks, because I stepped on the scale and it said, "You are disgustingly fat, please get off!"
*Which, I suppose I AM in a somewhat better place. I didn't have to bite my lip and run away from the lady who told me about my friend. And while I thought I might cry on the way home, I'm more just disappointed.