I’ve been moving slow this week. Bryan was gone all weekend at a geek thing so Ruthie and I spent a lot of time in our pajamas. And today I don’t have a car to go anywhere, so once again we are still in our pajamas.
It seems I’m becoming That Wife who lets herself go, wearing raggedy sweat pants, bed head, no make-up, and a spit-up stained shirt. I’m waiting for someone to turn me in to What Not to Wear – although I think I could live with the humiliation in exchange for a $5K NY shopping spree.
I’ve become listless and unmotivated again, and don’t even look forward to play dates with friends anymore. I just want to sit in my pajamas, alone, in front of the t.v. and eat chocolate chip cookies and drink lots of wine. I’m wondering if the Zoloft is wearing off, or maybe I’m just using depression as an excuse to be lazy.
How does one figure these things out?
I’m chubby, and it’s finally getting to me. You can only use the I Just Had A Baby excuse, or the I Have To Keep Up the Calories for Nursing excuse for so long before people raise their eyebrows at your third bowl of cereal for dinner.
I think what finally got to me was looking through the Eddie Bauer holiday catalogue that came to me in the mail. I love Eddie Bauer clothes, but I realized as I looked through it that I still picture myself as looking the way I did before Ruthie was born. I have been in denial of my reality. I have become the person I secretly mock and judge when I see her at the mall – the chubby girl who still dresses as if she’s skinny.
But that’s not the only thing that horrifies me. What is most horrifying to me right now is that I just don’t give a damn. I don’t care what I eat, what I wear, or who sees me doing it.
I just don’t care.