I remember weighing 104 pounds and asking my mom if I was fat. Today I'm 40 pounds heavier and I don't ask anyone if I'm fat anymore because I KNOW I AM. Not necessarily by normal standards, and, yes, I have had two babies in the last three years and so I'm entitled to some of this fatness. It's a mother's right to be a little fat. But I don't want to be fat, so I've been working out and eating pretty much nothing but vegetables, lean meats, and steamed rice. And some cookies now and then everyday. Wheat-free cookies. Still...if time is not linear, and if I still weigh 104 pounds on some other timeline somewhere in the universe, PLEASE let me be kinder to myself and revel in my skinny ass self, rather than worrying about something that isn't even a problem.
Now, NOW, in this timeline I have problems that merit worrying about. The latest is my self-diagnosed stress fracture in my foot. I go to an orthopedist on Wednesday next to get some professional help diagnosing the problem, but until then, can I just say: ENOUGH ALREADY!