Our neighbors in Arguineguin are pretty great, they really are. They’re a nice, older Norwegian couple who bought their house a few years ago and have renovated it just perfectly. They smile and wave whenever we meet on the street, and their helpful tips about where to buy furniture and plants are always most welcome.

(Note: My appreciation of the neighbors does NOT apply when I hear them splash into the wonderfully refreshing pool right outside their door. They have a pool and we don’t. I’m pouting….)

Anyway, these neighbors have a visitor this week. And – I just can’t help myself – I hate that skinny B***.

This visitor has my pre-baby body from the not-so-distant past. And she flaunts it just like I used to. You know exactly what I mean… she struts around their pool (I’m still pouting, by the way…), pretending she doesn’t notice how awesome she looks, subtly turning this way and that in her itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny bikini so everyone gets a perfect view. And don’t even GET ME STARTED on that belly ring that perfectly accents her flat abs and her youthful fitness.

Skinny B***.

It’s unreasonable, I know. But nevertheless, I find myself glaring at this innocent visitor on a daily basis, firing gamma-rays of fat cells from my eyeballs straight into her body.

I get so irrationally angry at the unfairness of it all – I’ve paid my dues, I’ve birthed my baby, I’ve put in the long hours of nursing and thankless hours of childcare. I’ve hit the roads and the gym and the weights and the zumba class (yes, that uncoordinated and clumsy person messing up your last zumba class was me, get over it already…)

But despite all this whining and crying and struggling, I will never look like she does again. The numbers on my scale are back at pre-baby levels, but there’s a bit more saggy roundness to my curves these days, and I would just as well do without them thankyouverymuch…. For better or for worse, I will now forever be one of those people on the beach that you look at and think, “Wow, she looks pretty good for a mom.”

There are people out there who say that we should embrace our new maternal bodies with all their bumps and bruises, and that we should flaunt our saggy boobs and stretch marks proudly like military medals of honor.

Yeah, right… like that’s gonna happen.

Instead, I find myself choosing clothes from my closet that subtly hide and conceal and camouflage. My Google Reader list of contents has shifted from websites like “9to5chic” to other sites like “AintNoMomJeans” and “FightingOffFrumpy.” And now – horror upon horrors! – I need a new bathing suit for our many beach days ahead. I’ve never dreaded anything quite so much in my life as the upcoming trials of bathing suit shopping.

And this B*** next door, she’s just rubbing it in.

Please please please stop splashing around in that wonderfully refreshing pool and GO HOME already! Or, at least, go eat a sandwich and let my gamma rays work their magic (yep, still pouting…).