This weekend is my 15-year high school reunion. 

Whaaaaaaat?!

I remember being in high school and seeing the old people come back and feeling a mix of pity and awe. And now, here I am. I am old. People will feel pity and awe when they see me. 

I went to a small, private, Christian boarding school in Mississippi for all of high school. I was 14 years old when I went, which is crazy. I still saw my parents every few weeks, but I lived in the dorm and was responsible to wash my own clothes, get myself to class on time, and handle my business. I learned how to be self-reliant and independent and confident — important traits for any kid, but especially for a girl.

Looking back on the years of 1994-1998 brings a lot of emotions … I cringe, mostly. Like it would have been nice if someone would have slapped some foundation and blush on my face from the get-go and directed me to a salon where I could have layers cut into my bushy head of hair. And I wish I hadn’t dated anyone seriously, I mean COME ON. I was a child who lived in a bubble with no idea of what she really wanted out of life. But most people have regrets from that time in their lives, and it’s humbling to look back and see how much I have changed since then.

Freshman year …

I feel so far removed from that time. But truthfully, going away to school shaped a LOT of who I am today and I’m grateful for it. My graduating class was small and close-knit. You can’t help but to develop a bond with people you pretty much live with for most of the year. 

Sophomore year …

Junior year …

Senior year …

Normally I would be completely stressed out about my appearance and would be tanning, dieting, pedicuring, and primping myself in preparation. In fact, I skipped my 10-year reunion because I was pregnant with ONE and felt fat and ugly. I’ve regretted it ever since, mostly because I wasn’t fat — I was pregnant — and that was a silly reason to miss out. This time is different because I’m older and wiser and hugely, ridiculously pregnant and there isn’t much I can do about any of it except throw on a horizontal-striped dress and call it a day. 

I’ve been telling Husband for months to make sure he gets off from work March 30th. I showed him on the calendar multiple times. I reminded him every few weeks. And yet, the other day, he tells me he can’t get off from work because it’s the last Saturday of the month and he is in the car business and it’s just not possible.  

OH, IT’S POSSIBLE. 

You cannot send your pregnant wife to her 15-year class reunion alone. What if there is some freak there who has a thing for hugely pregnant single women? Some sugar daddy looking to save a woman in need? No thank you. I definitely pulled the pregnancy card in this situation.

I have also informed him that one of us has to look hot, and it’s not going to be me … so … your move, Husband.

Anyway, I’m kind of relieved to have the pressure off and just go and enjoy. Maybe for my 20-year I will have brand-new, sky-high boobs to show off, and in that case I will certainly be concerned about my appearance. I’ll be really old by then, you know — THIRTY-EIGHT. And I will most likely be on the brink of a major “have to prove I’m still young and cool” crisis that will surely draw the looks of awe and pity.