*longsuffering sigh* Okay, friends, here’s the thing. Operation Hotmother has officially become THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE. Nothing changes. Nothing makes a difference. That scale reads 163 if I work out. 163 if I don’t. 163 if I eat lettuce all day. 163 if I chow down on some Wendy’s.
We’re changing tactics . . . AGAIN.
I’m done with the scale. Done with freaking out every time it goes up half a pound. Done with feeling like I need to be a certain weight by October. Because you know what?
I’m healthy. And I feel good. And really, that’s all that matters. I’m eating pretty good (if you ignore that Wendy’s thing) (and also the fact that I had Arby’s for lunch today) and I work out regularly.
So this is the last post you’ll see on Operation Hotmother. *cue sad goodbye music*
But you know, in a way, I felt bad blogging about my weight. Because beauty is so much more than what we look like, isn’t it? And why did I feel the need to share that particular insecurity with the entire online world? I don’t know. I guess it was just on my mind after having a baby.
So let’s move on, friends. Forward and onward.
Let’s bid goodbye to the Hotmother.