Cranky Pants

A few years ago, I caught a glimpse of myself from the side as I walked by the mirror over the vanity in my bathroom. I stopped dead.
I wasn’t startled by my good looks -truuuust me. This wasn’t any “one eye in the mirror as you watch yourself gavotte” situation. My hands immediately flew to my midsection and I gasped in horror. My stomach was hanging out something horrid.
When had it happened?
Why, why, why?!

I raced back to my bathroom and stood on the scale, closed my eyes while it calculated (it’s digital), and then cracked one eye slightly open, looked down, and saw…

no change.
at all.

I raced back to the mirror, turned to the side, put my hand on my midsection in a sort of bewildered curiosity. At about that time, my husband rounded the corner and blurted out, “Are you PREGNANT?!”
Oh! No! I told him. No, it couldn’t be. I just needed to do some sit-ups. And then I chuckled nervously. A few weeks later, I got not one but 4 positive pregnancy tests.
My mantra was, “While I know how it happened, I really don’t know how it happened!”

For the record, THANK GOODNESS it did. My son is by far and away one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. My kids are my most supreme joy. Life without them would be so lifeless. So colorless. So… less than half of what it is now.

Anyway, a few days ago I had similar experience to the one I had a few years ago, only this time I didn’t weigh myself because our scale ran out of batteries, and let’s face it: I haven’t been in a huge rush to remedy THAT situation. Every day, I try putting on jeans but everyday I whip them off after a few minutes and opt for something better like… sweats.
The thing is: tight pants make me cranky. They make me SO irritable that I can’t stand doing anything! Life seems too much of a bother! The kids get in trouble for doing most everything except sitting quietly at the table with their arms folded.
But the minute I change…
the minute I free my flab…
the angels sing.
Ahhhhhhh, much better!

And before you cry “foul frumpy” I will just say that I’ve opted for skirt wearing most of the week as well. That’s helped salvage my marriage.

ANYWAY, I was up visiting my parents when I noticed a bathroom scale in their bathroom. I kicked my shoes off and weighed myself, getting the same butterflies I get when I take a First Response Pregnancy Test (is there any better brand? I submit that there is NOT!)…

I’ve gained 5 pounds.

BLECK! At least with pregnancy I would have had an excuse and a big cuddly prize at the end!

Today I’ve just got rolls. It all started last month when we visited the resort and then I went to Girl’s Camp where we got hailed out and consequently had to eat 3 days’ worth of food in one. And then my husband left for a week to go to training and -well, who wouldn’t? -I ate crap (not literally). Did I mention I also quit working out during all of this?
All it’s taken is one silly month dwarf my wardrobe.

I’ve got to make some big changes, and SOON. I’m getting really tired of cleaning my house in a skirt (to say nothing of the whole “having to shave my legs nearly every day” fiasco). I’ve just GOT to to get back into my jeans!
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…

And to round this post out, I have a snapshot of my darling girl saying her nighttime prayers. This picture is so sweet it makes my heart swell. The Tinkerbell sheets and jammies. The cowgirl boots. The doll (who is folding her arms, by the way and who also just got finished saying her own prayers).


  1. I know what you mean. And I think you can too! Get back in those jeans! You go!
    And the story of how you found out you were having Trenton is hilarious!

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