Mornings when I wake up and feel like just maybe the number that pops up won't make me want to jump out a window.
Possibly the result of trying to 'cut back' the previous night, and only eat 2,500 calories after 7:00 pm.
This morning was not one of those mornings.
This morning I felt like Fat Albert. A bloated version of Fat Albert.
Well, I decided I would show that scale.
I got on that thing like I owned the world...and then I fainted.
Not really, but I did get a little woozy.
With Henry and Adeline cheering me on, I decided that catastrophic blow was not enough.
I would forge ahead and recklessly try on all my "real pants."
It is a sad and frightening day when you admit to yourself that maternity pants are for...pregnant people.
My brain realized this was a terrible idea. It really did. Every brain cell in my skull was screaming:
"STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP."
"Why are you doing this; nothing good can come of this."
"This will plunge you into a hole of self-loathing so deep, you will need to be rescued like Baby Jessica."
And then my brain gave up;
"Fine, crazy bitch. You asked for it."
And boy did I ask for it.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who has done this?
There is not a snowball's chance in Hell those clothes were going to fit. But a small part of me hoped.
A miracle had occurred.
This person fell out of my butt ten weeks ago;
I believe in miracles.
And then a miracle happened.
Henry chose this morning to talk.
"Hi Fatty, Hi Fatty, Hi Fatty. Hi FATTY!"
On this particular morning, I really wish we would have named our cat something else.