And it seems that things have settled down somewhat around here, because in between stopping my infant from repeatedly turning the stove on, and my pre-schooler from playing his favorite game "tow truck" which involves pulling his brother around by the neck (but he is a broken car momma!), I have had a few minutes to start thinking about me. The thing that I've been thinking is: man it sucks that none of my clothes fit, that my blood pressure is sky high, that I'm starting to suffer from chronic back pain and that I feel like poo all the time.
So I decided to do something about it. I've joined a gym and I've been showing up on a semi-regular basis for a bit of hamster-wheel action on the tread-mill. I've also been counting the dreaded calories and it's ever so slowly starting to pay off. I can fit into my pants again at least.
But here's the rant.
Maybe it's because I'm a nice mid-western girl who never takes the last cookie, and responds to every compliment with a "poo-poo it's nothing" wave of the hand, but if someone does happen to compliment my (slightly) improved figure, I have caught myself feigning surprise and responding with something trite like "Oh? Well thanks, it must be from chasing after those pesky children of mine." Well...no. It's from doing my sit-ups, and spending an hour on the treadmill every chance I can get away. It's also from skipping those delicious cookies that contain an average of 650 calories per ounce.
So...you know what?
Thanks! I've been working really hard, and I appreciate it that you've noticed.
And you know what else?
You should take credit for your hard work too. Own your fabulousness. Don't just take compliments, demand them.
Ragnar... is fucking sexy damn it.
