I realized just a few minutes ago that I told my husband there would be sweat and hard work this morning. There was, don’t get me wrong. I hauled eighteen pounds of wiggly between the stairs plenty. The number of times I did a squat from the couch and then walked to the changing table and back warrants at least an honorable mention in the exercise category.
I’m starving, so that is not as awesome, but according to my recently resurrected myfitnesspal, I’m eating just right to lose two pounds a week. Since my boobies are gloriously producing enough liquid to feed triplets, I’m not super worried about cutting calories and still feeding little W (does it make me a jerk of a mother if I want to call him dubyah?). We will see if the panic of reduced milk flow sets in soon. I worry about having to use formula.
Anyway, off to eat another 500 kcal as the milk monster finally fell asleep! Perhaps he will continue to sleep through the night. Alas, the gym completely escaped my mind today.
Bonus baby onesie foot-ends. I find these adorable and probably part of the reason I’m entirely too disorganized all the time. Stop distracting me with cute!