Last night, my daughter picked up my shirt, looked at my belly, rubbed it and told me I was lumpy like a dinosaur.
She also proceeded to tell me the following:
‘Mommy, you have a big, fat belly.” -Emily
‘Well, that’s not nice. Do you know why I have a big, fat belly? Because I had three babies in there.’ -me
‘Noooo… you have a big, fat belly because you eat a lot, a lot, a lot of food.’ -Emily
So things I have discovered about myself:
1) I still love my daughter.
2) Emily is still living.
3) I need to eat a lot less food because apparently three meals a day is too much.
4) I have a big, fat, lumpy belly. This whole time, I thought I was dead sexy.
5) Her description of my belly could explain my giant, uncomfortable muffin top feeling over the top of my jeans.
6) Did I mention she is still living?
7) I need to be attached to a treadmill. Like chained up and someone needs to put it on level 10. I will move faster if someone ties chocolate cake to a string and dangles it in front of my face… no carrots though.
8) I might also run if there is a scary ass clown behind me or vegetables chasing me. I’m not eating that crap.
9) I’m lumpy. Like cottage cheese but you can’t mix me with fruit. I’m just lumpy.
10) I am currently taking resumes for a different daughter… maybe one that tells me how hot I am…
Until next time,
I have to gather my big, fat, lumpy belly and do errands