Rather, it involves wasting away on the Pretty couch feeling miserable thanks to a mystery stomach bug I woke up to yesterday. As my Twitterati so aptly quoted, I'm a mere stomach flu away from my goal weight. Beauty is pain, right?
You know that stereotype about how husbands are the ones that act seriously impossible when they get sick, taking whining and general dependence levels to a whole 'nuther, well, level? Um, we sort of work the opposite way in our house. Ahem. The AH famously refuses to be ill; he once was on a conference call while feverish, politely excused himself to, er, p-u-k-e, then returned to the call & worked the rest of the day, without any mention to his colleagues. I have no such work drive & feel it's much more important to be waited on hand & foot during these trying times.
Speaking of - in addition to weight loss involving no diet or effort on my part - the American dream, basically - I had the benefit of my two elves taking care of me. So whilst I sat very still and moaned and envisioned my funeral arrangements yesterday, my boys set about helping. My wee CEO, the one who has of late been in serious "MAMAMAMA" mode, gently played nearby, as if he knew I was in the death stages of mysterious wasting disease. The AH kept him entertained and otherwise catered to my whims, which included letting me control the remote during football season.
(All photos courtesy of the awesome Ziem Photography):
I'm mobile today - please don't let Santa or my metabolism know - if still icky and unable to eat. I'm working this cute men waiting on me & no food thing for as long as I can, obvs. Merry Christmas to me and my waistline!