A Tidbit of Blissful Irony

I miss writing. I really do. It's like going without exercise and your whole body starts yelling at you, "Hey, what's up? We want some MOVEMENT around here!" And if you fail to listen, it rebels with unsightly lumps and flab.

Thankfully, unlike my lack of writing lately, I have been listening to my body and the results are pouring in. 75 days into Jillian Michael's 90 day Body Revolution fitness program and I have dropped from a size 16 to a size 8. I still have two weeks left of the program and will get a little closer to my goal by the end, but I don't intend to stop there. I still have my flabby kangaroo pouch skin that will someday be rock-hard abs, but for now, it is just a sweet reminder that I really did carry two precious little souls inside of me.

While getting ready in my bathroom yesterday, my girls were excitedly emptying the vanity drawers of thrilling items like sparkling gold twisty curlers, a salt crystal deodorant stick from years ago when I thought that I could survive without antiperspirant, a colorful retainer case, a tube of lotion, and then my firstborn held up a little white package. It was an ovulation test. I stood there and smiled to myself at the irony of my child handing me an old ovulation test.

There are moments when I dance with my girls to love songs and I catch myself in tears at the beautiful truth that they are mine. I made it. I survived the long wait. I didn't have to wait an eternity after all, just a little more than a decade. I want them to know that I enjoy them, that I cherish them. I don't want their memories to be of me yelling at them. I want them to remember me looking into their eyes and smiling, knowing that no matter what, I still and always will love them.