Virgin Blogger

I have tried several times to start a diary, I have even succeeded for a short time, but it has never stuck. I love the idea of a diary. Something to look back on and record the ups and downs of life. As a fairly reclusive person, I also believe in the mental therapy that a diary can/could provide. As such, this is my final attempt at a diary.

Today was one of those days. Ug. One of those days when a diary is necessary because I have guilt. Lets back up a bit... I have three children and packed on the pounds with each (2 - my first was a set twins) pregnancy. I have recently managed to lose all of the pregnancy weight. Wahoo. Now leap back to the future. I have guilt.

My father was on his way to pick up the twins this morning for his Saturday morning grandson-a-thon. I was sitting on the front stairs, while the twins put on their bike helmets in preparation to ride up and down the street until Dad arrived. We have a steep driveway and the twins have successfully figured out how to ride down it slowly using the bike brakes. Well, today twin2 decided he would revert to his old style of braking using his foot placed behind the pedal dragging on the ground. He proceeded to go faster and faster down the driveway, straight into the gate blocking the driveway on the other side of the road. He hit the gate, he and the bike bounced off the gate, and he hit the ground. I ran to him to make sure he was okay - I was pretty sure he was, just a little shaken. In the mean time, I left the front door open where my 9 month old had been playing in my bedroom with 'the robot'. I consoled twin2 and was carrying him and the bike back up our drive, when I notice a flash of white rolling down our front steps. Yup. The baby had just fallen down the stairs. Guilt, have I said GUILT. I felt like the world's worst mom and it had all happened in a matter of 5 minutes. I have always been so careful, have taught the twins to be so careful. GUILT.

I should now say that twin2 was totally unscathed and the baby had cut his lip a bit. I told my father what happened, he looked at the baby - who gave one of his big toothy smiles (the baby, not my father) - and he said, "He looks okay!" I have to admit that he did look okay, but still. I ran in the house, nursed the baby to sleep for his nap (I know, should I have allowed him to go to sleep? I don't know, but I felt that eventually he would have fallen asleep anyway), jumped on the internet to research 9 month olds who have fallen down the stairs and what to do about it.

After all of this, all I want to do is sit in front of the TV with a big bag of any starchy, salty food and drown my guilt. So...instead...in an attempt to maintain my weightloss

I decided I needed to start journalling, mental therapy. Lets hope this works.