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Over it.

My daughter is almost 5 months old.
I have to keep repeating this sentence as not to completely lose my mind or drop to the floor in a fit of sobs.
I stepped on the scale today. The number that flashed back at me I haven't seen since days before Z was born. I'm a small 3 pounds away from my heaviest. Ever. Even while housing children in my womb.
What brought on this need to check the scale? I caught a side view in the mirror after my shower today. And about threw up. Surely this could not be MY reflection! MY body has never been in this state, surely it could never.
I started to think back on my last couple of weeks. The breathlessness after walking up and down the stairs to the basement. Once, only to restart the dryer, so I can't even blame it on the over-filled laundry basket that needed to come upstairs.
The terrible for me but oh so wonderful food that I had been consuming. The California dip, spinach artichoke dip, the olive spread, the pizza, the chicken wings. Oh my, the chicken wings. I'm totally having a fat girl love affair with chicken wings. Quaker Steak and Lube is programmed into my phone and I could eat their dusted chipotle barbecue wings every day for the rest of my life. I'm actually slobbering a little even thinking about them.
The excessive use of sour cream, butter and sugar on everything and the occasional fountain coke need to stop.
I played a few Wii fit games with my toddler today and after the balance games, my legs ached. Really? The lowest of low impact exercises make me all achy? Seriously? How old am I?!
None of my pants fit. I have the choice of wearing yoga or sweat pants or I can squeeze into the only pair of jeans I can still button. Not comfortably, button period. With considerable overhang.
Gross. I can't believe I just typed that. What's even more disgusting is that it's 100% true.
I wish that I could stop eating as much. I have tried to cut down my intake but my supply is cut down considerably. I keep telling myself that I will get back onto my treadmill after Z is weaned, but I can't keep this up. I can't take the back pain that accompanies any housework, whether it be scrubbing the tub or unloading the dishwasher or vacuuming. I can't keep acting like this situation is ok. That it doesn't make me cry when I go to get dressed every morning.
I have set my alarm clock for 6am. I'm knocking the dust off the treadmill.
It's time.

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