I left work early yesterday and went to the doctor for an earache, which is one of the wimpiest excuses for sick leave but that was mine. I hate going to the doctor even though I have insurance and that’s what it’s for, right? To keep me healthy? But mostly poor because I haven’t reached my deductible yet but the moment I do, it’s doctor’s office all the time until December 31. Then I will build a stand where I sell all the free Fit Pregnancy magazines I’ve stolen from the waiting room even though they clearly say, “DO NOT REMOVE FROM WAITING ROOM.” Which means I’ll get caught and probably go to jail for an even more lame crime: outdated, not-pertinent to my life because I am neither fit nor pregnant, magazine theft.
The doctor looked at my ear and said everything was fine. She didn’t give me any pain-go-bye-bye meds or anything that could also make money outside the Western Union. Hey, I’ve watched Intervention. I know what rock bottom is and what happens when I walk into a room full of people who love me and are fighting for me and want me to join in that fight.
Not only did I look like a wimpy baby liar, but I also found out that I’ve gained even more weight than I thought I did so of course I spent the entire morning thinking of every dramatic thing I can do to keep from being the massive behemoth my body is clearly designed to become. I could stop eating all together. I could do Insanity or P90x or any of the DVD sets that are collecting dust.
I need to make more changes to my life. Work out more, sleep more, write more–and not just jokes, take photos, be a better mom, be a better friend, remember birthdays before I get the Facebook alert and just be a better person.
I will be tackling things one at a time, small steps toward being all of these things. Maybe it’ll be easier once my right ear stops being such a pain or when my toddler stops waking up right when I think I can sneak away to the gym and asks me, “Where you going, Mommy?! I wanna go with you!” Maybe there will be a day that I will be so skinny, my older kid won’t ever be able poke my soft, white underbelly and announce, “I just wanted to know what it feels like! It’s so soft!”