If there was one thing we worried about when we turned my kids over to my parents for the majority of the summer, it was that they would return to us completely spoiled.
And so they have.
I can ignore the dozens of stuffed animals they brought home with them. I can ignore the new clothes. I can even ignore the numerous trips to expensive amusement parks.
What I can't ignore are the pounds they've both packed on.
My son gained seven pounds this summer. He's three.
My daughter gained almost ten. She's six.
But they're not the only ones. I gained thirty pounds this summer.
Yes. You read that right. It is taking every ounce of my self respect not to loathe myself right now. I mean it. Every single ounce.
I've become what I feared the most. A fat mother with fat kids.
If there is one positive I could spin here it is that the whole family now has the same goal. We will all be eating right, exercising, and getting healthy together. This summer was a huge wake up call.
So while I deal with the whining, crying, and back talk, I'll be remembering that at least I can fix that stuff with a few days of discipline. The weight is going to take a lot longer to correct.
Like I needed to feel even more guilty. I think I'll go have a cookie (or five) to take my mind off it.