Luke wanted a bathroom scale. It was a mistake to get one; I could hear that thought resonating in my head as I walking to the checkout with that blasted thing in one arm, and my not-so-little man in the other. I tried to tell myself, it will motivate you. It will give you a starting point to go forward from. We got home, I opened it up, and tapped it to make sure it worked. It flashed 0.0. I stepped on it, refusing to look down until it beeped that my weight was calculated. BEEP. I looked down. My heart sank, tears built up and I came out of the bathroom and fell on the bed next to Luke. He knew exactly what happened. He pulled so I was on my back, kissed me, and asked what it was. I told him. It didn't even phase him. I said, "maybe we shouldn't try for baby #2 until I can become less of a fat cow." After berating me for insulting myself, he said: "let's just try to lose as much weight as we can together and in November, we will see where we are at. Don't worry about it." I wiped my tears and thought, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get up, work out, cut some stuff out of your diet and get your body ready to make another baby.
My motivation isn't the number that was on that evil scale. My motivation is that baby in the pre-existence waiting to meet his/her mama, daddy and big brother. I will be as healthy as I can be for him/her, for Luke and for Finn.
Thank heavens that I am 6'3'', though. Hides how big I really am...to an extent. Happy Tuesday, everyone.
The going-ons of our little family, which started with one TALL gal and one IRISH man and soon became the third and fourth TALL, IRISH little men! Enjoy! :)
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