I've always lived in the world of extremes. Dramatic with a tendency for self-absorption. Obsessive about maximizing every aspect of my life and prone to pouting if unforeseen circumstances result in wasted time. I want every day to be the best day, and if it isn't, then it's simply the worst day. And if you're in my vicinity, I'll make sure you hear about it. 

Today is Wednesday. My hair is on day fourteen without a wash. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that these days I get hot flashes every hour, I get spat up on after most feeds, and I have both dried and fresh breast milk stains all over the third shirt I've put on today. The dirty hair is irking me. I want to put on jeans and seize the day, but there's literally no point because I won't be leaving the couch. It's one of those mornings. I'm itching for a bit of glam, but my daughter has other plans in store for us. She's so fricking cute though, even when she's hysterical, and I have to admit she is an exceptional cuddler.

I need to maximize every fifteen minute window of hands-free time I get, which means another protein bar for lunch. I make a note to prep fresh veggies for snacks next week, knowing I absolutely will not do this. I have to admit though, these peanut butter bars are pretty damn good. It's no Wunderbar, but it beats an arugula salad hands-down. We're halfway to the weekend, when I'll eat all the pizza without any of the guilt. It might only be hump day, but the anticipation of Friday night eats is enough to excite me as I lay my empty wrapper on my nursing pillow.

I haven't been able to get a workout in this week because little lady won't let me put her down. It was making me antsy yesterday, but today I finally give myself permission to throw productivity out the window. I binge some really trash t.v. instead of trying to work on my article with only five fingers available for typing.  

It's already 2:00 and I haven't done anything today. The baby and I are still in our pajamas. But she's got a clean diaper on and I managed to put on clean underwear after my first post spit-up shirt change. Got to celebrate the little wins, even if the celebration is sprinkled with resentment.  

I really don't feel like it, but I force myself to put on the baby carrier and get out for a walk before my son gets home from daycare. I really could use the exercise, but mostly I just need to get the hell out of the house before I lose my mind. I'm sick of the view of my kitchen sink, and I can't stop focusing on the way the fabric of our semi-new couch already looks like it's ten years old.

It's absolutely gorgeous outside. It's not too warm, not too cold. The leaves are everywhere, and they are breathtaking. The colors warm me to my toes and the crunch beneath my very unglamorous walking shoes is invigorating. Baby girl is enjoying the walk just as much as I am. I can hear her breathing because her nose is very congested, but it's the most peaceful of breaths she's had all day. My own breaths are deep and luxurious. I feel calm and energized all at once. I feel ridiculous for having ever been reluctant to take this walk. I make a silent promise to do this every day because it's the easiest form of therapy I can think of. I'm fully aware that I will break this promise by the end of the week, and that I'll need to force myself back out as the temperatures drop. So I make another promise to force myself, and for now I'm confident. For now I am flying high. 

It's pitch black out soon after I get home because we've pushed the hour back. I should be making dinner but my arms are still tied up with cuddle duty. Thank God for the microwave. It hasn't been the best day. And it hasn't been the worst day by any means. But I kiss my baby girl's cheek after she has finally cried herself to sleep on my shoulder, and her lips curl into the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. It has been the perfect day.