Next up: Arms.

After I ate lunch today, I had some extra time and I went to do a little shopping. I wasn't looking for anything in particular; mainly, I just wanted to see what size I could fit into.

(That answer would be six.)

I found a few dresses. One of them was particularly awesome -- black with black and red small fabric flowers circling around the neckline. So I tried it on and looked at myself in the mirror and...oh dear.

My upper arms are horrific. I mean, I guess they're like most women my age who haven't done any targeted weightlifting, but every time I wear something with no sleeve or a cap sleeve, there they are, just a-waving in the breeze.

Ugh.

I'm very self-conscious of them, even when I have plenty of other things to be self-conscious about.

And when I don't.

One shopping trip several months ago, Katie was with me and we were looking at dresses. She kept showing me dresses that she liked that were sleeveless, and I kept telling her I didn't like it. She was frustrated, because usually the girl can pick out some clothes, and she finally said, "I know you like this dress, Mama. Why won't you try it on?"

So I told her about my arms. And she remembered because from that point on, if I even touched a blouse or dress that was sleeveless, she'd say, "Mama, remember your arms."

That's my baby girl. Always looking out for her mama's arms.

So anyway, I always do better if I have a goal and since I've met my weight goal (and then some), I need something else to occupy my time (when I'm not working, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, taking care of kids, running, reading or watching TV).

So next will be my arms. I don't expect nor want big, muscular arms.

I just don't want wings anymore.