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.
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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