I couldn’t believe the horrible day I was having. I was running VERY late for work. My husband and I were snappy at each other. The dog wouldn’t come in from outside. The baby was up and crying. I couldn’t find my coat and of course it was raining something fierce.
The little things were adding up very quickly to a big thing and it wasn’t even 6:00am yet.
I got in my car. Took a deep breath, turned it on and off I went. The day managed to get worst before I got to work. Some moron was not paying attention and swerved in front of me, nearly hitting me. I hit the brakes and laid on my horn. Well after that, my knee was extremely sore and my hand was bruised. Yes, bruised. This did not help my mood.
Work. Ahhh, work was a nightmare. Not the job its self, just the stage that one of my projects was in. Getting things in order and of course right before Christmas, is always a very hectic thing. I just kept my head down and continued to get through the day in one piece.
I picked up the little one from daycare. Fought with her to get her in her car seat. Such a wiggle worm. 15 minutes later she’s in and buckled.
I get home to an overflowing mailbox. All sorts of Christmas cards. I love opening up Christmas cards, always brings a smile to my face. There was also a package for me. OH yes, I ordered new pants. I get inside and open them up. Read the packing slip, what the… they are the wrong size – too small. I don’t know why I even bothered trying them on, but I did.
Since I became a Mum, I’ve had a very hard time accepting the changes my body had/has gone through. I was very use to my body pre motherhood, I had worked hard for it and I wasn’t ready to give it up. Before I was pregnant I was a size 8. In the last year I’ve managed to get to a size 10. But no matter how good I eat, the exercises I do … I’m a 10. I had learnt to accept that. My metabolism isn’t what it used to be. I don’t train like I once did. I was ok with a 10, I was coming to terms. Marylyn Monroe was a 14, beautiful and had caught the eye of a man or two. I can live with being a 10.
I put on the new pants. My legs fit. Small accomplishment. I go to do up the button.. it does up. I look at the tag… size 8. I move a round. Bend over. Sit down. I wiggle some more. OH MY GOODNESS!!!!! I AM A SIZE 8. The whole day didn’t matter to me anymore. The terrible morning. The bad mood. I fit back into my pre Scarlett size and comfortably. I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe it.
When I wasn’t looking I somehow slid back into my pre Scarlett body. I mean not everything is where it used to be and I don’t expect it to be.
To some they may see this as a superficial accomplishment and I don’t care. Judge me if you must. To me, this is a big accomplishment. I don’t want to be a Mum who is sloppy and always wearing gross clothes covered in yesterday’s food and mystery goo. I want to still be me as well as a Mum. My appearance is important to me. I take pride in myself like some people take pride in their garden or their cars. I like to be presentable. Makes me feel good, inside and out. What is that saying, my body is my temple. If I feel and look good, I’m happier. A happy wife (mother) is a happy life or so they say!
When my husband got home, first thing out of my mouth was I love you, then I said I’m a size 8. I didn’t need to explain anything to him, he knew what I was talking about. He gave me a kiss and said you’re a 10!