I’m eating carbs. Ask me how many fucks I give

Zero. I give zero fucks about my carbs.
I also haven’t gone to gym in 6 weeks. Zero fucks.

This is the most bizarre feeling in the world. I’ve never felt this way. Ever. I’m the girl who admitted to weighing myself twice a day, every damn day. And now. Now I’m eating carbs. I’m eating sugar. And I’m doing it and I actually couldn’t care. Life right now, is challenging. I’m working again, I’m wife-ing, I’m mom-ming and yes I know countless women before me have done these things simultaneously and had possibly more on their plate, but this is the first time I’m doing them and it’s fucking hard. So I actually don’t need to add being painful about what I eat to that mix. 

Liberated? No, I don’t feel freedom about not being ridiculously strict about my food consumption but I don’t feel guilty either. I’m trying to be the best I can be right now which means that having the energy to be on play mode for two hours when I get home after sitting in traffic for an hour after a full and long day at the office means that I may just need to have a slice of toast or an easy to snack on rusk. Cramming a full day into two hours less at the office, just to be able to leave in time to sit on M3 for fekking ages to get home in time for nanny, means that if lunch can be made quickly and consumed even quicker if it’s made of carbs, I’m not gonna be fussy. And if this means that my mombod is going to take me into 2017, then so be it because right now… Zero fucks given. 

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