Today, I earned my golden lasso. And satin tights (but no hot pants, please. I have had two kids.)
And my three year old? She's definitely in the running for the role of Evil Villain in the next movie. That kid has major tantrum stamina.
I used to feel guilty for not doing aerobics (I get dizzy and faint), running (ditto), lifting weights (I'm muscular without--I don't want to look like Conan the Barbarian. Or Conan O'Brien for that matter.) I do yoga when I can because I like to.
But I've shown that I'm definitely a contender. An hour-long screaming, crying, kicking, fighting tantrum. Epic proportions. Temperature taken on the back of her neck (102.5). Advil snuck into juice and refused (and finally taken from a cup.) Food refused, drinks refused, and lots and lots of snot and tears. A phone call, an appointment. More screams, shouting, refusals, finally begging. For naught.
We arrived, and she kicked me as I tried to put shoes on her. So, I hauled her out of the car, shoeless. Lifted her sister in the carseat on one hip (26.5 lbs.), her on the other (31.6 lbs.) She kicked and flailed and screamed and wiggled and cried. But she was going to the doctor, come hell or high water.
Ear infection, severe. Both ears.
Post workout, I caved. Princess chicken soup for her. Ben & Jerry's for me. We earned it.