I have this favorite shirt. It’s a shirt I liberated from M’s side of the closet when we first moved in together. I staked a claim on that baby, and it’s been mine for the past 8 years. I gradually stopped wearing it after I got pregnant with Butter, and all but forgot it existed when I was pregnant with Bear.
The weather is crummy today. When we got home from church, all I wanted to do was throw on a pair of sweat pants and a comfy shirt. I calmly walked upstairs to change and thought, “Oh! My shirt!” I dug through the closet, excited at the prospect of a body with no more squatters, ready to pull my favorite shirt over my head and snuggle up with my boys.
When I walked downstairs to watch the Steelers game, M asked me what was wrong. “Um,” I fidgeted, “this shirt. Remember how it used to be huge on me?”
It was a wake up call for me. My favorite shirt doesn’t not fit me, it’s just not as big and comfy as it once was. It’s a little tighter across the chest, and a lot tighter in my tummy.
I have to do something. I have been doing something, but it’s clearly not enough. I have to get over my fear of restarting the Couch to 5K process. Since August 2011, when I was told it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to run in the summer, I haven’t done it. The treadmill is sitting in our basement as a dumping ground for the things we toss down there and plan to sort when we have free time. I have a fantastic yoga DVD I never do, because lately I haven’t been sleeping well And yes, I know starting the process of exercising again will help my sleeping issues.
My alarm is already set for 5:30. I just have to hope Bear doesn’t repeat his screaming fit in the middle of the night tonight.