To feel like a woman.

I'm ready.

I'm ready to feel like a woman again. Like the woman I once was. 

Okay, naturally, after having just given birth, I feel like 'a woman'. But what I'm talking about is feeling like a welcome back to the land of the living kind of woman.

It's harder than it was when I had Georgia. 

Again, naturally, having two children to care for is more of a challenge than just having one.

It didn't take long after having Georgia to snap back to my old self. Like most newborns, she slept most of the day, so I had plenty of time to rest and pamper myself in small ways.

This go-round, that 'pampering' hasn't come so easily. But that doesn't mean I still don't desire it. 

After all, it does make a woman feel much more feminine when her legs are shaved.

It's also lovely to have nicely trimmed and painted toenails.

And plucked eyebrows.

And maybe even a haircut at some point in the last six months.

But even more than that, I have a (albeight small) desire to actually work out or something and get this body of mine back into working mode. I think it's spent too much time on the couch recooperating. It's feeling stale and lifeless. Like it needs a little jump start.

I strongly dislike working out. I don't know why. I know many people who find it invigorating, energizing, even relaxing. I find it painful and boring and I hate it. And when I dislike something, I have to really be pushed to accomplish it. I usually can always successfully do it - but it's just a matter of really being shoved over the edge.

That being said, I'm trying to set a realistic goal for working out. But what should it be?

Here are my excuses, before we really brainstorm on this:

1. I already am getting up eaaaaarly to feed Owen and make Stuart's breakfast. And since Owen's also still eating once in the middle of the night, loosing any more sleep is not an option. Mornings are a no-go.

2. Ya'll, by the end of the day, I'm tiiiiired. Georgia goes to bed at 7:00, but then it's time to feed and bath Owen, finish up the last of the chores for the day and put the house back together. I can't imagine mustering up enough energy to add a workout routine after all that. By the time it's said and done, I just want to curl up in bed and watch Man vs. Wild. Booya.

I know, I know. Excuses, excuses. But they're true.

I don't want to let myself go. I promised my husband I would always try and take care of myself which I really think is important in a marriage. Even though I'm currently still sporting yoga pants around the house 24/7.

Maybe it's time for me to accept that I'm not the super-energetic, bachelorette I once was. The one who's biggest concern was what color of eyeshadow to wear. Or what shoes went best with that blouse. The one who had hours and hours free to sit in a salon and get her hair highlighted. And extra money to spend on such treatments. 

Alas, time changes things. My body has now born two children. I can't expect myself to look like I did in college - that's not where I am anymore, after all. And I am thankful for that.

Where I am is in the here-and-now. And here, I need to stop typing this post so I can go into the shower and take five minutes to shave my legs. And here, I need to then spend a good twenty minutes trying to fix these hairy caterpillars that are taking over my forehead with some tweezers. And here, I need to just get my booty in gear and start working out if I want my strong body back. 

It's all a balance, isn't it?

I don't want to strive for 'what was' because it'll never be again. 

But on the flip-side, I have a wonderful husband who deserves to have a wife who cares for herself. Who takes the time to look good for him. 

Cause I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to curl up with a hairy Sasquatch at night. 

And I'm pretty sure Lanolin doesn't count as a beauty product.

Just sayin'.