No Food For You

I don't agree with women who say they don't want to have a baby because it will "ruin their body." With that said, I have yet to lose the last ten pounds of baby weight I packed on during my pregnancy. I haven't dropped a pound since February. As I drag my butt to the gym and painfully jog 1.5 miles on the treadmill, I think back to the days when I got up at 6 am and ran 6-7 miles around town before even starting my work day.

Lately, my morning exercise is running around the house, putting Caroline's clothes on limb by limb. She thinks it's a game and she giggles, one arm in onsie, one out, as I chase her down the hall, pants and socks in hand. After 15 minutes, I manage to get her fully dressed.

Back to that treadmill. I have managed to negotiate an hour one evening a week to go to the gym and attempt to do something to the flour sack attached to my waist. This Monday, I got home at 5:30 and quickly fed the pets and changed my clothes and almost as soon as Andy was in the door, I was out. I was able to yell as I hurried out, "Try to keep Caroline awake until I get home so I can put her to bed!"

When I got home, Caroline was in her jammies in Andy's arms, happily sucking down her bottle. Excellent-I got in my workout and my baby is ready for bed. Andy even made dinner for us as I sang Caroline her good night song and showered. Miracles DO happen.

The next morning while grabbing breakfast, I noticed the leftovers from Caroline's dinner two nights ago, which was suppossed to be eaten Monday night. Thinking Andy opened up a brand new container of baby food and ready to reprimand him for wasting, I asked, "Andy- what did you feed Caroline for dinner last night?" To which he replied, " You didn't tell me to feed her so I didn't."

So, if she poops her pants and I'm not there to tell him to change her, does he? I thought dinner feedings were a given by now, but this was my latest lesson from the Mommy Rule Book: Do not assume in your absence that your spouse will do what you do every single day, right under his nose.

While annoyed at my husband's lack of observation, I have to be happy about this trait. He barely notices that I no longer have the slight, athletic body I once had and the only sack of flour he sees is in the pantry.

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