Today I am writing about exercise. Sigh. I do love it, but god it’s pain. Whoever came up with the system of 7 days a week, 24 hours a day, was clearly a bloody idiot. When are we supposed to do all the stuff we need to do? They definitely did not factor exercise into this weekly time plan. They did not factor in the P.B.B. Idiots.
So once you’ve the baby, (let’s not dwell on the hours of labour and various aftermath ailments), you’ve mastered the feeding (let’s not get hung up on the stress, the guilt and the knackeredness that accompanies being a human cow), you’ve sorted out the sleep routine (I won’t stop to pause about the night feeds, the restless put downs and the teething wake up calls), you’ve worked out how to cope with going back to work (I’ll skip the manicness, the baby brain, and the time spent mastering juggling) and then…..erm, what then? Is there a prize? A reward? Some kind of certificate at least? Wahoo, well done Emma! Have a bunch of balloons! Have a weekend in a beauty spa! Have this bottle of champagne presented to you while all your friends and family applaud and salute the sterling job you’ve job you’ve done at transforming yourself into a mother. What? There is none of this? So what is there? ……ahhhhhh I see. Yes, of course. A wobbly stomach. What a treat. Screw you mother nature.
There are many pieces of advice you get given as a new mum, my personal favourite being ‘everything’s a phase’. As a non-religious person I would now say I worship the ‘everything’s a phase’ god. I’ve chanted to him during 3am feeds, muttered to him mid-shoe throwing tantrums and begged him during food refusals. He usually comes through. Eventually. Another former favourite piece of advice, (and I say former with a snarl and a nasty taste in my mouth as is it in no-way-shape-or-form is a favourite anymore), is this classic: ‘take your time with your baby weight, it took 9 months to put it on, it’ll take 9 months to get it off’. HISS. Month one, I thought this advice was the greatest thing I’d ever heard. Month two, it was still motivating and achievable. But by month seven, it started to feel more like a threat than an encouragement. What happens if I don’t do it by month 9? Will I turn into a pumpkin? But I’m already a pumpkin?! I’m now into month 11 and this magic promise did not ring true for me despite my best efforts. I think I’ll stick to the ‘everything’s a phase’ god, he’s more reliable….although thinking about it, he didn’t do much for my freaking P.B.B did he? Cock.
I try. I really do try. There isn’t an exercise class out there I haven’t tried. I’ve zumba-ed, span, body pumped, pole danced, trapezed, body jammed and boxed my way through my twenties. I’ve done so many ridiculous moves and exercises at the gym I could make a life time of hysterical You Tube hits (fortunately there is no video evidence in case you were wondering). On my first mother’s day, instead of relaxing with cake I did a 10k charity run. I run with the pram at least once a week. And that pram is heavy now, really heavy and he laughs at me. For three miles he laughs at me. So I’m just going to take this opportunity to glean a little bit pleasure writing what I really want to write – IT’S NOT FAIR!!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!
Despite my openness to all kinds of gym classes, there is one thing I am not. I am not an aerobics girl. I’ve never liked it. The cringey routines, the overly-smiley-I’d-quite-like-to-punch-you-in-the-face instructors, the shit music etc etc. But since having Phoenix something has happened to me. I have become an aerobics girl. I can’t get enough of the stuff and I put it down to one thing, and one thing only: the instructor at my gym is running an aerobics cult. I’ve never seen anything like it. I went there the first time by mistake as I got the times wrong and I found myself in a rammed class of about 50 women. In strolled aerobics cult leader and that was it, I was hooked.
She is in my opinion as all aerobics instructors should be: defying age with a totally ripped body, permanently tanned like she’s just come back from a cruise, a wild array of matching Lycra suits plucked from the 80’s, and an incredible ability to offer what can only be described as ‘friendly abuse‘ to class members, who, me included, lap it up. My personal favourites being ‘get your fat backsides on your mats‘, telling off a man for having a weight too light by shouting ‘are you a man or a mouse?’ and the all time great of picking out tired women lingering at the back and dragging them up front for not looking happy enough. But she does it with style! You can’t help but smirk. She doesn’t even use a mic, she cranks up music so loud she has to kind of communicate using exaggerated facial expressions and body language most CBeebies presenters can only dream of. I once went on a Tuesday mid morning and the class was still packed. How can 50 people be free on a Tuesday morning? Are people phoning in sick to attend Aerobics cult? I think I may join them…
I think the worst thing about aerobics is when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see myself concentrating harder than I have ever before including exams, driving test, interviews and yes labour. But there you have it, I am aerobicsing my way to relive my P.B.B and I hope it inspires you to equally get involved in whoo-ha of exercising. Oh and I’m also taking acai berry supplements, drinking as many cups of green tea as I can and standing on a balance board every evening. Feel free to laugh at me, I do. When all that seems to be happening is an improvement at standing up and going to loo a lot (both of which are ironically incompatible skills) you’ve gotta laugh. Sigh. Still, we must truck on hey…I’ve got to loose it all before putting back on when it’s time for baby number two. Ah, motherhood….sigh.