No joke, I got that on a report card once in middle school. Granted, it was from a wretched old hag that hated kids, but its always stuck with me because its true. My family will attest to this – if you try to correct me I will get super defensive, even if I AM wrong [but we all know this almost never happens].
Folks, this is one awful habit I can’t shake, and I am my own worst enemy when it comes to this. I can’t stand that I don’t look like I did a year ago, the house is never clean enough, and my hair just never sits right. You name it, and I am downright horrible at it; I don’t think I do anything ‘well’. Get the drift?
In recent years [i.e., since meeting the husband] the little voice in the back of my mind has been drowned out by his ever encouraging words. No matter how nasty I am towards myself he is always there with a positive thing to say. I should also lump my parents into this category, because they too help out a lot – I just don’t think they know it
So why all the hate talk? My friends, I went on a 2.5 mile run last night and I thought my lungs were going to heave themselves up my throat in protest. Climbing up the last ‘hill’ I imagined my legs trying to maneuver through mud. It was ridiculous and disheartening. The entire time I cussed at myself for not being more active, for not getting back out there sooner, and for eating like I’m trying to get onto Biggest Loser. I am reassured by my loving husband that I should be easier on myself, and in a slightly annoyed tone he adds that I “did just have a child”.
Well you guys didn’t come to read about me groaning and pounding sand about a shoddy run so here’s a picture of the kiddo.
Don’t worry – there’s a reason behind my big long self-rant, so make sure to tune back in soon to see what I plan on doing with all the negative nonsense I have going on in my mind.
If you need me, I’ll be in the corner drowning in Almond Joys and Sprite.