Recently I started up an exercise regimen. I figured since the last kidlet was born almost two years ago, it was laughable that I carry around baby weight. So I've been hitting the gym 4-5 times a week for the last month. I hadn't really noticed much of a difference in the way my clothes fit, and the scale wasn't moving, either. Yet I felt healthier, less stressed and more energetic, so I stuck with it.

I was resigned to this process not resulting in any weight loss or effective change. I stuck to my routine of quickly running past the bathroom mirror after I got out of the shower, carefully averting my eyes from my flabby mommy body. Seven is far too early to stare that in the face, er...flabby tummy, er....saggy butt.

This morning as I was darting by the shower, I saw it. Something so magical, so mystical, it had previously only been rumored about these past seven years. Glimpses of this mythical creature have been as rare as sightings of bigfoot since I started this crazy motherhood business. I gasped, amazed. I was frightened to move lest I scare it away.

Waist, how the hell have you been? I missed you!