Deep signs abound - of relief and frustration
The relief is from knowing we are all well and that no one is about to vomit in the near future. So we are good as far as our health is concerned. Baby A is eating like he has a hollow leg to fill and Baby B is back to his normal self. That is, he is loud and crazy and shrieks for no reason but to hear himself bounce off the walls. It’s so sweet. They both slept about eight hours last night, ate two waffles each for breakfast and finally went to school today. It was the first time I had been baby-free during the day in my own home for two weeks. I was going to start crying non-stop, instead of just intermittently, if I didn’t get alone time at home. I really need some peace, you know?
I am delighted the babies feel better, but I still feel like I was just cooked in a microwave – flabby, pasty and tasteless. As if all my nutrients were leached out by the 2,500 megahertz it takes to reheat a frozen Mama.
I know part of this is because I was sick, then the boys were sick and then I was overtired, but had to keep hopping to take care of them. Also I didn’t get to the gym for fifteen days straight. I know I am addicted to exercise - if I don’t work out, or walk or get moving at least three times a week I am grouchy, tired and moody. Plus I don’t sleep so well, which means I am not as efficient as I need to be. I had a little time to work out today and feel better for it, but I am still down and dumpy and lumpy.
And that’s just my butt.
And my abs.
And my arms.
And my thighs.
Basically I hate how I my body looks (and my eyebrows are pretty nasty these days as well) and there are days when I could just explode with frustration at the mirror. I work out, I eat less than I want to, I keep the fats and refined crap-ola to a minimum, I don’t drink and I still look like a trash can. I really do think those people who tell me I look “fine” either have extremely low standards for “fine” or they need to run to the optometrist, ‘coz that prescription ain’t workin’ toots.
It’s those darn short-stature-lumpy-heavy-legged-thick-arm-person genes I inherited along with my critical personality. It’s so hard to fight genetics! Yes, I know, I know I am hard on myself, but if I let myself get away with – Oh, I look fine, let’s have some banana cream pie – I will be a total troll.
No wait, according to Mumsie, I already AM a troll. Or at least a Troll Mama, which is the same thing.
Deep freaking sigh or frustration. Deeeeep freaking sigh.
posted by Mother of Twins & More @ 9:55 PM
1 Comments:
MOT, get thee to the gym! You need those endorphins pumping through your body and brain! You are adorable and beautiful AS YOU ARE, and you are in way better shape than I'll ever be, most likely. You've done a heroic job of taking care of a sick self and sick children for many days and, as with all heroic efforts, you are worn out, which means you aren't thinking and feeling correctly, because no one does when they're worn out. A trip to the gym and a few good nights of sleep and you'll feel better and think you look good, too, because you do.
Now, what can I do about my rotten mood due to the fact that I'm not supposed to eat dairy for a week? Yesterday, when I was so hungry and couldn't think of what to eat that doesn't have dairy and yet tastes good, I had rice and an orange -- and I'm used to eating yummy popcorn, or chocolate for a snack. Woe is me, poor dairyless me!
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