I sit and go through old photos, looking at myself at all different sizes. Almost like a catalogue of the trials of my life.
"Oh that was the happy year, I loved my flat stomach."
"Why do I look so bad? Oh that was the year my oldest son was diagnosed with autism."
There's the pre-child skinny, the ups and downs since then. Sometimes old photos depress me, but other times they serve as perfect motivation. Both the "bigger" and the "smaller" pictures remind me that I CAN DO THIS.


