Tomorrow is going to be great. Husband and I are taking a ditch-the-kids day to Disneyland to celebrate our 6th anniversary, a few days belatedly. We get to go on the fun rides, the ones they don't let kids or pregnant ladies on (so it's been a while, you see). There will be lines, and some heat, but that's fine enough. Because it's about the day, about the "hey let's pretend we're 19 again and parenthood is a little discussed part of our future instead of our day to day reality" freedom of the experience. And it'll be great.
Except for one stupidly, annoyingly, pesky little unavoidable thing.
Argh, I am NOT feeling great about myself today. I feel like a great big sack of excessive flesh. I CAN wear a couple pairs of non-maternity jeans, but it definitely does not feel comfortable. And the maternity pants, well, they really help emphasize the fact that I still look about 4 months pregnant. I really don't want people to think I'm 4 months pregnant, not that I'd blame them or feel terribly offended if they assumed.
Tomorrow is going to be a nice long day outside in the sun. A day meant for tank tops and shorts. Cringe. Man I wish I had clothes that were better at hiding what I don't want seen. Or, I wish I didn't have those parts at all.
So here's hoping that tomorrow is SO good that I don't find myself thinking about my upper arms and lower abdomen. Now that, my friends, would be a pretty incredible day.