Alternately titled, hugging your stretch pants back.
I purposely dressed in workout clothes this morning, with the hopes that I would find my way to the gym someway, somehow, even as the odds continued to stack up against it. It wasn't one of those sweatpants-are-all-that-fits-me days, either. I had good intentions. To prove this, I will confess to applying a full face of make up in the car, and blow drying my hair in my sister's bathroom while our herd of half a dozen children ran wild through her living room.
Sadly, I've yet to make it to the gym, but my mascara looks great. And I have high hopes for the post-dinner hour, while daddy does bedtime solo and I can perhaps sneak away for 60 minutes of elliptically infused relaxation.
Sure, it would be nice to put some real clothes on, but I know myself well enough to know that if the gym shoes stay on my feet long enough, those feet will soon enough find their way out the door and headed in the right direction.
(Back to bedtime for a sec - does anyone else hand over the entire routine to their dearly beloved? Or am I just the most heartless wife/mother in all the land.) Seriously I loathe the bedtime shenanigans, while Dave seems to (usually) relish the time to reconnect with the boys. When I have a newborn I feel like I have an awesome 'get out of bedtime free' card, so I just sweetly collapse on the nearest couch with the nursling and mentally check out of hands-on parenting for a while. I guess maybe I'm practicing detachment parenting? Whatever.
So workout clothes. Worn all day, but in the spirit of hopefulness, not resigned surrender. I'm counting this a 'win,' and my one thing for today. We're in the homestretch now!