I have to wash my uniform today.
I'm worried. I have a lot of questions, questions that don't have easy answers.
What will I wear during the approximately 24-hour drying period? Will my other clothes be binding and restrictive and tight? If they are, will they keep me from chowing down on chips and salsa or going through the drive through for an Oreo McFlurry? If they do, will I be pleased with this discipline at the end of the day or will I beg my husband to take me out for that ice cream fix? Will I stop wearing stretchy pants every day? Will I again reserve them for evenings and weekends only? Will this help me fit back into my pre-pregnancy jeans faster?
Ahem. My mind really started running there.
But it has to be done. I can't wear the same stretchy pants and a baggy sweatshirt for more than three days in a row. Even with two years and a baby under our marital belt, I don't want my husband to know that I am in near-daily danger of succumbing to my undisciplined, sleep-until-ten-and-eat-pizza-every-day self.
Farewell for now, my uniform.
Startling Realization: two years and a baby into it, he probably already knows my weaknesses. I'm lucky he agrees to pizza every Sunday and kindly says "how about this weekend" most nights that I suggest a post-dinner ice cream snack. He's a strong, wise man.
No comments:
Post a Comment