I've been meaning to set this story down for posterity....
New year, new habits, new changes...and yes, that includes weekly trips to Weight Watchers with my sister. Although I'm a WW rookie, I lived Jenny Craig for months before my wedding and I still recall the anxiety over the weekly weigh-ins and also that my sister always seemed a pound or two (or seven! our first week) ahead of me. I promised myself I wouldn't look at these meetings as a competition. We're there to cheer each other on and push each other to do better. I do have my 30th birthday to look smokin hot for in May, ya know.
Anyway, the very day that I tried my first meeting, stepped gingerly on the unfamiliar scale and recoiled at the weight I'd let myself reach, also happened to be the very day that Bobby's teacher pulled me aside afterschool and asked quietly if I was expecting.
Yikes!
Sure, I was in yoga pants and bulky sweatshirt. Sure, my weigh-in revealed I was a little too close to my pregnancy wait (full term) with Bobby almost six years ago. But, oh, the horrors of it all! Of course, she wasn't commenting on my supple shape. Seems my son talked her into believing we were expecting twins this spring. A boy and a girl and they were going to live in our play room.
I drilled Bobby on the way home. Why did you say that? Do you really want more stinky kids in the house? Do you realize your father is biologically limited to giving me boys? I let him rattle on, his new obsession is how babies come out of mommies, and sighed when he was really just obsessed with the biological facts of having two babies in your tummy at once and just how they wrestled their way out. He got over the babies in the house demands when I talked to him about stinky diapers and cranky parents from no sleep, less money to save up for Disneyland, and a lot less privacy.
He was over it, until, we walked into our yoga studio one sunny morning and two freaking adorable twin baby girls lay on their tummies on blankets in the front room with matching headbands. Now I have to play the "Mommy's too old" card.
After all, I will be turning thirty so it's a valid excuse, right??
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2 comments:
I love your honesty and I identify with your frustration. Though I am not a mother, I know all about the struggles of dieting before and after the magical 3-0.
Bobby is lucky to have a mom who blogs. Thanks for sharing this story.
B. Lynn Goodwin
www.writeradvice.com
Just tell him exactly how babies get out and he'll be so grossed out that he'll never ask for another one again. At least, that worked on my girls.
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