I hate the first few months of working out...
... after surgery.. after pregnancy... after 6 years of suddenly becoming a family (Glad my kids can't read blogs yet because we're not allowed to use the word "hate." It's too strong. We use phrases like, "I don't prefer," or "It's not my favourite" or "I really don't like it.") I used to be this girl who worked out. Now, I'm clearly someone's mom trying to make the scene. I'm so thankful for those "women only" sections of gyms. There's all those mirrors and there's all these memories of what those mirrors used to reflect. But the mirror don't lie, and there I am... staring at my ankles, after I've stared at everything else, and I'm thinking, "Man! Even my ankles are out of shape." It's true. Everything is out of shape. And even though I worked out hard (making sure I had fun, mixed it up and challenged myself) nothing looks better. I'm sweaty. But nothing looks...