Holy Cow! Or should that be - I'm a Cow!?

I'm sitting here, having a headache. It's not one of those boulder-on-my-forehead headaches, nor even one of those elephant-sitting-on-my-shoulder headaches. I have the jabbing-pins-and-needles headaches.

This type of headache usually tells me it's time to schedule an appointment and see my optometrist. My eyes are grading up or down again. I do not want to go to a doctor. First, I really love my glasses now. Second, because I have a pair of Guess glasses which I love, which my DS3 helpfully snapped one earpiece. Third, I do not have the time, or want to make time.

Late this afternoon, my husband woke up from his nap, and was changing his clothes to pick up our dinner from Chipotle. Again.

As he was dressing, he pulled on a pair of black pants. You see, majority of my DH's pants are black. This particular pair of pants though, was a tad tight, and a whole lot shorter. He was hopping about wondering how badly this pair shrunk.

It was my pair of pants. I can't believe it! My husband, who is 6-foot tall, can pull my pants up! I would have sat down and cried if I didn't find the whole thing hysterically funny! I laughed so hard, it's a wonder I didn't pee in my pants. In another pair of pants. Or more like a pajamas really.

Way back when...15 years ago, I was double-0 size. Size 3 is baggy on me. Now I just bought a pair which my husband can pull over his luscious butt! Holy Giraffe! It's not what I planned at all after having 5 kids.

I wanted so bad to strapped on my pair of running shoes and run. Just pound on the concrete, sweat away, and chant in my head "pounds-off, thinner thighs" and all other mantras I can think of when I am running. I'd even welcome that burning feeling in my muscles. I missed pushing myself just a tad harder, go a little faster, finishing my laps earlier. I missed huffing until I get into my zone. I plain missed everything about running.

I wanted to run so bad, my foot itched with longing. I suppressed the urge, grabbed my baby and we danced around the room. When my baby smiles and grabs my face and bubbles, I know I am making the right choice.

Here is my reason for holding back. He's seven months, a champion crawler and a pro-milker. It's why I hold off on the running. It's hard, but this baby comes first.

Even though my husband, who once upon a time could span my waist with his two hands, could now almost fit in my pants, my running shoes is just going to be for walking. Time will fly, and before I know it, DS4 will be all grown. For now, we're just going to concentrate of being his Moo-Mommy, with my feet walking on the ground. Pants and all.

Have you ever have this happened to you? How embarrassing and mortifying was that?