Maybe it’s the Zoloft talking, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s been 80 degrees for the past three days and I’ve been able to do my most favorite of the favorites and drink a glass of wine outside on the patio every night. Or maybe it’s a combination of the Zoloft and wine that I’m not so sure is safe, especially because I’m breastfeeding but don’t tell me if you know differently because Hadley has slept 13 hours every night since she was 6 weeks old and pretty much looks just like this for the other 11 hours of the day:
So that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
But back to how awesome I am.
I look hot. I mean, not regular hot. Not sort of hot. We’re talking scorching fucking hot. Ow! I just burned my finger on my ass while I was slapping it.
16 is a lot of pounds. And at my Weight Watchers weigh in yesterday I lost 10% of my body weight so I got a little key chain but more importantly I got to talk in the meeting. Which is awesome because you know how much I love attention. My meetings are at 9:30 on Tuesday mornings so that means I’m the youngest one in the room by about 80 years. And old women love to hear stories about me so I get to talk a lot. Sometimes they pretend to be deaf but I know better.
Yesterday’s meeting focused on the power of positive thinking, which is something I’m always trying to work on. For instance, last week I was packing up all of my maternity clothes to loan to my newly pregnant bestie and I got really sad thinking about all the attention I got in them. And even became a little verklempt that I’ll never get to wear them again.
Of course the concept of being sad while packing up maternity clothes was completely lost on Nick, who asked why the hell I was sad I’ll never wear my fat clothes again and reminded me how sexy I’ve become. Which might actually feed into the problem of getting pregnant again if I didn’t make him sleep on the roof.
I decided he was right and then proceeded to play fashion show for two hours in our bedroom. In secret, of course, while he was downstairs and I was upstairs pretending like I was in there feeding the baby. And in my mind when I put on all of my old clothes and strutted around the bassinet I looked just like Kate Moss. Well, maybe Kate Moss after she had a couple of kids. Actually, more like Kate Moss’s cousin from eastern Europe who likes pretzels and beer but also works out once in a while.
What I’m trying to say is that I’m beginning to feel human again. Well, until I take my clothes off and see how jacked up things still are.
But fully clothed I almost look normal.