Wow, I had high expectations for vacation. As we buzzed through hilly Pennsylvania before dawn, chatty from obscenely large coffees and the promise of a week away, I told my husband how committed I was to staying on track for the week.
And then my overly tired toddler had a screaming meltdown at 7:00 a.m. at a Michigan Avenue Starbucks. And then it started raining and didn't stop. And it was cold. And windy. And then Harper declared adamant opposition to the stroller. And before I knew it, I was sitting in our hotel room, mindlessly eating a pack of Harper's fruit snacks (among other atrocities).
And though Harper made a swift recovery and had a wonderful week in the stroller, in museums and even in the pack n play,
Unfortunately (poor choice of words. . . the muffin top has nothing to do with fortune, since it was completely within my control), I crumbled like. . . the crust of a Gino's East deep dish cheese pizza.
And crumbled like the huge bag of Doritos that Harper poured onto the luxurious hotel bed at 6:15 a.m.
And crumbled like deep-fried portabella mushrooms (y'all, I don't even like mushrooms) at Trocadero.
And crumbled like the Garrett Chicago Mix my huge butt sat on as we drove home.
We got back two days ago. I'm too scared to weigh.
Last week did not a skinny bitch make. I am shamed. I am embarrassed.
I'm going vegan for the week to get myself back on track.
I will not falter. I will not fail.
I will wear my favorite white capris in May and I will not look like a ruptured bag of cake icing in doing so.