Yesterday, while at my sister's apartment, something urged me to step onto the bathroom scale. Long gone are the days when we kept a scale in our house, beneath a thin layer of dust, under the pile of laundry. I hate scales. They make me feel inferior, as if they know I just polished off the last of Ben and Jerry's Late Nite Snack (of which I am positive Husband had none).
So, imagine my surprise when the evil scale told me I was only 4 pounds away from my pre baby weight! Four measly little pounds.
Tonight, to celebrate (well, after taking care of the ice cream), I slipped (squeezed) into my old jeans and pranced around my bedroom. They might not be what some would deem "public appropriate" yet, but they zipped! Winning.