Sick Baby = Sad Mama

Little Miss Pants has had the flu this week, which makes Mama very sad. Luckily, there was no vomiting involved, but she had a high fever and has been congested and sad. We took her into the doctor when she peaked at 105.6, but the Doc said that she looked okay, and to keep giving her Tylenol and Motrin, and to watch. The fever broke yesterday and we've been running the humidifier almost non-stop. She's not sleeping the best and so she's cranky, but is otherwise starting to get back to herself again.

What has made this extra hard is that on Wednesday morning, as it became suddenly clear that she was sick, Shawn was on his way out the door for a trip to Anaheim with his band until Monday. He felt really guilty leaving, but her being sick wasn't an emergency and his trip had been planned for months. It's been stressful to not have him here to help, but his mom has been amazing, coming over during the day to help me with Violet so that I could get some work done from home and not have to go into the office.

She insisted on holding the medicine bottle. Thank goodness for child-proof caps. We had a Caillou marathon this week.

The upside was that I got some baby-cuddles at night, because the only way to get her to sleep long stretches was just to take her in bed with me, because she needed the comfort. So that was nice and snuggly.

What this has also meant is that my fitness plans have been derailed by a week. I didn't get to do any exercise for a week, and when I finally got into the gym yesterday afternoon and went for a run, I could feel the absence.

I haven't blogged much about it here, but I have been on a quest to return to my pre-baby weight before I hit my 30th birthday in March. Which means not taking a day off until then and losing somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 lbs a week. Honestly, not an unreasonable goal. But kicking oneself in the pants to get the snowball rolling on motivation and good habits can include the occasional misstep, and those become all the more frustrating when I can hear the clocking ticking away to March 11.

But I had one of my revelations this morning -- the number on the scale matters less than the ability to fit back into my old clothes again. So perhaps I should measure my success by what fits instead of that digital readout every morning. That thought was the bump I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and refocus on target training my trouble spots, toning up, getting in shape.

I want to be a fit, happy, healthy mama, sexy and confident and excited about life, because Violet will learn my attitudes, and the last thing I want is my own personal struggle with body image, occasional bouts of semi-depression, and just that adult disenchantment with life to negatively affect her world view.

I'm sure she'll develop her own neuroses in time, she doesn't need any of mine. :)