Can’t a Momma get a workout in around here?

This is really a great time in history to be a mom! Can I get an amen for yoga pants? Can you imagine all the hauling, diaper changes, and nursing in those old corseted dresses? And, that workout gear is the new mom uniform? Am I the only one that no longer feels like I can move in my jeans? Spoiled. Now that we are in suited up we just have to find the time to actually work out, right?

I used to take the kids to the YMCA when we lived in Colorado. When I signed up, I was really excited about two hours of childcare and a chance to work out kid-free. Except, it never really happened that way because packing up two babies and heading anywhere is a workout in and of itself. And, once there, I really only wanted to take a shower and make phone calls. Plus, I don’t really like gyms. I don’t like the creepy muscular guys who walk around, grunting, sweating and looking at you like they are laughing at you because you’re obviously doing it wrong. I’m not being paranoid; I have actually had one of them come up to me and give me pointers. Ah, no thanks. Then, there are the classes. A friend invited me once. It was something like a cross between boxing and the electric slide. I was the one still trying to figure out the punch sequence while the rest of the women were on the slide sequence, and I was quickly plowed over. Who let the uncoordinated girl in here anyway?

So, early on in my stay-at-home mom career, nap time became my workout time. Yes, just me diligently obeying Jillian Michaels’ orders in the privacy of my own home with no muscle men commentary. Side note: One time when Matt had the day off, he decided to join me. After a particular floor exercise and a yowl of extreme pain, we realized these videos are not designed for men (should be a disclaimer). Anyway, over the years I have amassed a Jillian library, and the kids and I have pretty much memorized her commentary. Enter my four year old: “I didn’t tell you it was going to be easy, Mom. I said it was going to be worth it; get your butt up higher!” I realized if we had memorized it, it was time for something new. I hit up my super-fit mom friend who loaned me something called Insanity.

So now I’m taking orders from Shaun T doing something called “30 min max.” Except, how about “45 min max” to include all the times I have to hit the pause button and run to the potty so I can jump squat without wetting my pants? I mean, obviously, these spandex-clad women have never given birth, and certainly not three times, and if they have, please no one tell me or I will be reduced to tears. Then, there is the whole my-kids-don’t-nap-anymore-so-now-I’m-doing-these-workouts-with-a-toddler, and the minute I hit the plank position she takes it as an invitation to jump on my back, or I have to plyo jump over her. So, can you show me a modification that includes jumping over two-year-olds? And by the way my son thinks “burpees” are hilarious. “Hey, Mom… I can also do “fartees!” So can Mommy, Bud…another win for the at-home workouts.

Also, about the eating plan. I would love to follow it, but I think I have a pretty good thing going here. I mean, I prepare food for four people constantly, rarely sitting down, so mealtime pretty much is exercise anyway. And, my kids have a sixth sense that can detect sugar from a mile away. The minute I get out anything remotely sweet, they magically appear and demand it. (Seriously, can they walk through walls?) Anyone need a good weight-loss accountability program? I can let them come to your house for the afternoon and, I assure you, your cupboards will be completely purged of all things sweet. Just ask the grandparents. My kids tear through the junk they buy faster than a school of piranhas. We are barely in the driveway when they all start screaming hunger like we have not fed them in a week.

Anyway, working out has been very therapeutic during this stage of my life. I mean, as wonderful as three kids are, there is a great deal of stress involved in parenting them, and endorphins really do give you a euphoric feeling that kind of takes the edge off the…”Mom, I pooped my pants; he hit me; she’s lying; we just emptied the entire linen closet and built a fort; I accidentally put Playdough in the dishwasher”… type of day. And, although I can’t endorse a particular virtual fitness instructor to yell orders at you in your own home, I will recommend picking one up at Target for 9.99. It’s cheaper than therapy.

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