I am a better person in the summer than I am in the winter. I mean, I’m not a bitch between November and February, but I’m definitely happier, lighter, and more of a glass-half-full kind of person in the summertime. The scorching sun hits my body and all of the pessimistic bitterness of winter melts away.
Every night, after 6:30 p.m., I am effectively a prisoner in my own house. I have a four-month-old baby who lays his little self down in my arms and closes his eyes at exactly 6:30 p.m. There are no more spontaneous trips out to see a band or late-night runs to the grocery store. My husband works late, so it’s just me and my sleeping baby boy in the house most nights. The little man and I have found a rhythm, and as the fog of new motherhood has lifted, I have discovered something I never could have anticipated. I found my freedom.
It is 11 p.m. I’m achy from my workout yesterday and feeling pretty good about it. I ate well today, except for three large squares of chocolate from the Pound Plus Trader Joe’s 72% Dark Chocolate bar after dinner. My waistline is blissfully unencumbered by elastic-waist, cotton and spandex yoga pants. I didn’t get out for my three-mile walk today because I snoozed on the couch instead. My 10-week-old baby is going to wake up in an hour or two to eat. Another glass of wine would be nice … and maybe a snack. Some of my husband’s peanut butter cereal, perhaps? God, what I wouldn’t give for a hit of Red Velvet from Cupcake Collection right about now …
There isn’t much that I love more than a wedding. I got married over three years ago, but I can still be found covertly recording "Say Yes To the Dress" on my DVR every Friday night. It’s a sickness, really, but there is something so alluring about the romance of it all.