
And then Monday morning comes, and I feel like I was up all night doing keg stands at a frat party. But I still feel hopeful. I can push through this, I say. I might get a workout in during her first nap. I might be able to grab a quick shower. Just doing one of these makes me feel accomplished. But as the week goes on, each morning feels harder and harder. By Wednesday I’m already dreaming of a Blizzards, Doritos, and cupcakes. I would kill a dog if I could get some ice cream or a piece of cake right now. I’m so anxious. Every evening I just walk around the house craving food and talking about food. I rummage through our cabinets looking for ANYTHING to eat. We don’t have any good snacks or junk food. No peanut butter, no chips, no crackers, no cookies. So I end up eating pickles, or cottage cheese, or old dried stale cereal, or tomatoes. And then by the end of the week, I feel like I’ve failed at my goals. I haven’t worked out, I haven’t read, my emotional eating is still out of control. But then I look and see Ellie so excited crawling all over the house. She’s so happy exploring, so happy for everything. And I think this is what’s it’s all about. This is why I do it. This is my goal, and I am achieving it. Then she looks up at me and flashes me a look that just makes my heart melt like ice cream on hot apple pie…
mmmm…. pie…

awww, love this post Matt!