(Originally published June 3, 2015)

I’m going on vacation in a few weeks, and I’m very excited about it. I’ll see friends and family, and I’ll go to the beach and a couple of parties. I’ll celebrate my birthday and the Fourth of July and generally have a great time. I know all of this. But I’m dreading going.

Why?

The flight.

The last time I was on a plane was back in January, on my way home from London. It was a glorious trip, but the flying was not fun. I was squished, and I’m sure I squished my sweet, ever-patient son, who was stuck next to me. He will once again be stuck next to me, and we will both, once again, be squished, but this time it’s not just the discomfort that has me worried. It’s the seatbelt.

I’m afraid, that for the first time ever, I won’t be able to buckle it.

I was hardly skinny back in January, and I’m even less so now. What if it doesn’t fit? What if I have to request an extender? Will I die of embarrassment? Will my son?

I have a couple of weeks. Maybe there’s time to make a dent. It’s worth a try.