The Dreaded Number

Yesterday at the doctor's office, I stepped on the scale and instead of looking away like I normally do, I looked right down at those numbers.  Guess what was staring right back up at me?!  The dreaded number I swore I would never see on a scale on which I was standing ever again.  (Of course I'm not going to divulge that number - a lady needs to keep some secrets!)

This number and I go WAY back.  We first met midway through my freshman year of college when my poison of choice was the 24hr McDonald's we had in the food court of my boyfriend of the moment's dorm.  Oh, how I could take down a double quarter pounder with cheese back then...usually as a late night snack after I'd already had a full dinner and some soft serve ice cream.  The second time I met this number was shortly after moving to Chicago after undergrad.  Somehow being completely broke and not knowing a single person in the city led to weekends of me eating Chinese food and brownies in bed (full disclosure:  I may or may not have cooked those brownies before consumption).

Each time I met that number I somehow managed to put down the cheeseburgers and brownie batter and step away from the kitchen and into the gym.  However, here we are at our third meeting, number, and I have no choice but to give into you and accept that you will only grow larger over the next three months.  You have won for now, but it's much easier to swallow knowing those extra pounds are little eggplant and not grease and chocolate.

Also, number, watch out once eggplant and I hit the lakefront path with our stroller.  Your days will be limited!

xoxo
AK

p.s.  Baby, yesterday I got my hair cut and it looked beautiful - so full of body and shine - I was in love with what my stylist, Cassie, had done!  This morning, I woke up and tried to replicate Cassie's work, and honey, it looks like I piled straw on my head in the shape of a mullet.  After my arm almost fell off from trying to blow dry it with a round brush, I resorted to the straightening iron.  I look sort of like a J. Crew version of Joan Jett.  Not good, baby, not good.  Let's hope you're a boy, or if you're a girl that you love ponytails with bumps and crooked braids.