It is early Sunday morning. The child-care center at the gym will open at 8:00. Ideally, I would like to be there at 7:59, greeting the sweet young women who will entertain my 3 while I try to stop this weight-loss pendulum from swinging in the other direction. I feel like I *might* be treading into dangerous territory these days; seeing recent pictures of myself that seem to indicate my cheekbones are in the process of disappearing again. This time I have no excuse: there are no more babies, there is no more nursing. I may have unwittingly used up all that momentum from the first few weeks of weaning Jack- the weight loss that was jump started by the simple fact that my body was no longer supporting an additional human being.
But I am out-numbered this morning. I hate hate hate to make excuses. My husband is in bed at the moment, coping with the gastro-intestinal side effects of 10 days of Septra, and my 3 have made it abundantly clear they are not going to be left in some child-care center this morning while I run off to do something foolish and frivolous like work out.
Out-numbered. Not a good place to be when you are a mommy.
On a different note, watch this space because very soon there will be pictures of our newest family member. Later today we will pick up our 7 week old boxer puppy, Finnegan! And then I will probably never work out again because the child-care center at the gym probably won't watch the puppy for me while I work out and anybody who has had a puppy knows that you cannot leave them alone for more than like, 2 and a half minutes.
Still out-numbered. But very, very happy. Happily out-numbered. Because "this too shall pass". All too quickly even.
Right? Maybe out-numbered is a good place to be so long as you can have fun at the same time. And we all know there is no shortage of fun at our house.
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