Big talk. Bigger butt.

Nursing Mom has made a command decision over the last couple of days.  As of now, I am making no more Herculean efforts toward weight loss.  At least for another month or so.  I'm having a hard time focusing on weight loss and eating a sufficient amount of calories to continue feeding m' baby, and since my little boy (seen below) is one of the two cutest kids in the world (seen below), I'll choose to keep him alive, even if it keeps my pants size at a "bigger than 8" for an extra month or two.

Speaking of which, my current goal jeans, not my smallest (size 4.  Take that, Communists), but my most "pretty sure I look mega hot in these jeans" jeans, are a size 8.  And while I can put them on, and can technically attach the attachy parts, this is not a bakery, and really, no one likes muffin tops quite as much as Elaine Benes.

I really want to look hot in those jeans again, shortly before I look like I'm drowning in those jeans.  But my priorities have realigned.  My perspective has cleared up.  I weigh onehundredandseventytwo pounds.  I am 17 pounds over my healthy weight, and like, a buncha pounds (technical term) over my goal weight, and here's the truth:  I'm not upset.  No, I don't think I look terribly attractive these days.  But it's okay, because I'm not fat.  I'm just temporarily stuck in this fat suit.  Again.  I've wiggled my way out of it before, I'm sure I can do it again.  And when you look at it that way, you can actually get to a point where the jiggly image in the mirror causes more amusement than deep and abiding depression.

 So yeah.  I'll keep working out, I wanna start "running" (more hypothetical than technical I'm sure) again soon, but I'm not going to be a diet Nazi.  I'll lose the weight soon, but in the meantime, my my my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!

Yep, these are the two cutest, most amazing kids ever.  With a hat.  This house is getting very theatrical.  Hollywood, well, just watch out.