Big Girl, you are beautiful.

When I first told you last week I was going to be on TV, I mentioned that there “may or may not be a really embarrassing photo of me broadcast on national television.”

Turns out it wasn’t.

And I could’ve gotten away with you not seeing a relic of my awkward past – but what kind of blogger would that make me?

So, here it is: proof that I was, in fact, a giant.  And not a tall, willowy rake like the supermodel who sat beside me on the BBC Breakfast sofa.

Nope, I was a 5’10” thirteen-year-old complete with hips, braces, and the only clothes that would fit her – her mom’s.

Please be kind.  That giant girl still lives inside of me somewhere.

Or, rather, I live inside of her.