I'm feeling proud of myself and miserable at the same time. It's a challenge, but I seem to be managing. I'm proud of me because I just went and tossed out my secret, hidden, emergency stash of chocolate. Time to get serious with the dieting. I'm miserable because I look and feel like a fat cow. 'Nuff said.
I remember when I wore tight jeans to the bar. I wasn't that "hot", but I didn't worry about looking like a very round fool. Nowadays, my clothes choices are more about comfort and disguise. I have mom clothes. Mom hair. I am in bed at 10:30, which is a mom bedtime. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since I am, after all, a mom. I just hate looking like one!