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I remember when I found out I was pregnant with baby #3. Yahoo! Wonderful. So excited.


Oh, the commitments to myself. ‘Boy, this time I’m going to stay on top of things. I’m going to do plenty of exercise. Eat healthy. Lots of rest.’ You see, pregnancy #2 was full of rich, dairy cravings,
and with my first child just turning one, our walks were just about as
fast as a snail’s pace at that time. Not super-fat-blasting, if you know
what I mean.


Well, week 7 of pregnancy #3 arrived and I found myself hugging the toilet. Except again, it was night and day. Yes, 24 hours a day. Not a great feeling. Nauseous. Irritated. Everything made me sick. Just the
thought of food sent chills through my body.


Except I found that I could stomach super-salty or spicy foods. Indian food and Doritos became my lifesavers. Ugh, not a great situation for the healthy pregnancy I had envisioned. And as time flew by…I ate
what I could get myself to eat (can you believe that scary nacho cheese
sauce sounded ‘healthy’ to me!?) and exercised as much as I could manage
(lift toy, put in basket…wet laundry moved to dryer).


OK. Yes. This post will end up at the topic of exercise one way or another. So, as I found myself, once again, getting little to no exercise, after baby arrived I was left with a whole lot of me. It’s
funny how after you have a baby you drop a good ten pounds (babe,
placenta, amniotic fluid and all). And yet, once my milk comes in…I gain
ten pounds right back. Yes. Lots of milk available to my babes, ahem.


But this time, after having three kids in five years, I’m VERY motivated to find the shape of me again. I can’t wait to fit into my old corduroys. So since Glenn turned two weeks old, we’ve been taking a
daily 45 minute walk as a family (girls in a double stroller, baby in a
carrier or single stroller). And it feels so good.

A matter of fact, it feels great.


Except this…
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Sometimes it feels like we live in San Francisco, but with a whole lot less traffic and a whole lot more trees. Every time we round the corner
to push on home, I’m faced with this ridiculous hill. I can’t help but
utter “Hell Hill” under my breath every. single. time.


Thank you “Hell Hill” for pushing me further than I would like, every single walk. Gotta work off those nightly-pregnancy-bagels somehow.

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