....and give myself a freaking break?
I'm angry because the scale hasn't moved in a week.
It moves 30 in 4 weeks, and then it doesn't move at week 5 and suddenly I am an EPIC FAILURE AT LIFE.
I know. This is ridiculous. As soon as I was able to run and work out after Jackson, it came off. But the past two days I have stared cursing at an inanimate object (the scale) and getting mad.
Mind you, I just gave birth less than six weeks ago. Perhaps I should CHILL THE FREAK OUT.
Bean is still fighting fighting fighting on the bottle, which really just stresses me out to no end. I hate hate hate that she hates it, because a) she hates it and I hate to listen to her scream and b) I am afraid I'll never get my freedom back nor leave the house for an extended period of time EVER AGAIN.
I know. Silly. She'll come around, eventually. She's not about to starve herself...the girl has about 18 chins and the pudgiest little legs ever--clearly she's doing just fine.
I have decided the best remedy for this is to go up to school to say hi to my kids, pick up some new running shoes at my favorite running shop, and buy my plane ticket to Chicago where I will then hitch a ride with Jacks and Soon-To-Be Mr. Jacks and head to WIBA in JULY! You should, too. It's going to be awesome.
In July, these last 30 will be history and she'll be taking a bottle like a pro, and I'm pretty sure I'll look back on this and laugh. Right?