Met with a trainer at the gym today. Have decided that, in my condition, it is perhaps better to avoid all physical contact with all men. Cannot really tolerate a cute, well-muscled boy helping me stretch my hamstrings . . . far too exciting. Very much wanted to throw him down on the massage table and, uh, well. Halp!

Fortunately, the image of myself flailing around on the bosu ball is enough to kill any pleasant sensations. When I was working with this trainer, we were chatting and joking and I felt really fun and maybe a little attractive. That lasted a few seconds until I looked at myself in the mirror, and then I felt frumpy and lumpy. I noticed that he, however, was still cute and funny when I looked at him in the mirror. Interesting.

In other news, I have resolved that J and I are going to have a Picnic Night once a week. One night every week, we're going to the playground with a picnic dinner when I get home from work. I think my little boy needs more fun in his life.

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