I have come to the conclusion that I can only blame things for so long on childbirth and postpartum effects. I think that horse is run out. That creek has dried up. That turkey has flown. I think you have a window of about 5 years to refer to everything as, "Well, with me being postpartum, and all..." and Vaughn's 6th birthday is looming on the horizon. I have about 6 months to lose the "baby fat" before it becomes the middle age spread. I actually lost all my baby weight in the first month of Vaughn’s birth, but then Vaughn started passing out long enough in spells that could be technically called naps, enabling me to sneak trips to the freezer for my Ben and Jerry fix. Most people complain that fat sneaks up on them. I can say that that is NOT the case for me. I see fat coming straight at me like one giant gelatinous boulder of adipose tissue, often absurdly embracing it as it flattens me into a size 8. Oh, don’t go pphhhhssssstttt. On my short, delicately boned frame, 5 pounds translates to 50 on a normal sized woman.
Before Vaughn was born I had all these big ideas about working out with a baby. The first month I was pregnant I subscribed to Fit Pregnancy, determined to maintain my hard earned fit body. Fit Pregnancy had all kinds of ideas on how you could not just stay fit during pregnancy, but that first mentally hazy 6 weeks after delivery and beyond, with mommy and baby exercises. The first problem with this very noble concept was I had no energy after getting exactly 3-4 fragmented hours of sleep, at best, on any given day. The second problem is I didn’t anticipate having a child that would gain 5 pounds every week. My now flaccid muscles couldn't conjure up enough strength to keep up with Vaughn's growth curve. And the third problem is these exercises required one of those complacent, barely alive babies, who are happily accommodating enough to provide the resistance needed in mommy’s situps to get her six-pack back, which Vaughn was not.
One of the very first baby purchases I made when I was pregnant was a baby jogger, visualizing jogging my way back to fitness while baby was blissfully unconscious in the jogger, after performing our Mommy and Me exercises, of course. The reality turned out to be me sprinting frantically down the sidewalk, Vaughn’s screams echoing throughout the neighborhood, desperately trying to get home as soon as humanly possible to avoid being any more conspicuous than I already was. I think I broke some Olympic records in those first years. I attempted a few of these jaunts, each time optimistically thinking that this time I would make it, at the very least, around the block, and by that time, Vaughn would have passed out. And each time, the same race back to the house, either pushing screaming baby, or if too far from the house to not elicit someone calling Children's Services, pushing stroller with one arm and holding unnaturally heavy baby in other. Well…it did provide a workout of a sort.
I then tried various other methods of transportation--Baby Bjorn, backpack, etc.--but Vaughn had an unusually rapid growth pattern, stubbornly staying in the 95th percentile (that means he was bigger than 95% of his peers), and well, there comes a time when it just isn’t humanly possible to carry around a being that weighs 35% of your body weight for any length of time.
Then there was the bike. We live in a hilly area, and again, Vaughn was a fat baby and quickly outgrew the weight limits on the bike seats.
I then tried The Trail Gator. This enabled Vaughn and I to ride tandem. This seemed to be another good idea, but again, the reality was people could hear us a mile before they saw us:
“Don’t put on the brakes…I said DON’T PUT ON THE BRAKES…Vaughn, we’re in the middle of an intersection, STOP PUTTING ON THE BRAKES!” Or
“You’re going too fast… MOMMMMYYYYY. STOPPPPPP. YOU’RE GOING TOOO FAST!!!!!” And so on. Add to that that he is now almost half my body weight and 3/4 my height and gets too pooped to pedal after 15 minutes, hilly area, etc., etc.
I tried walking with him, but for that I have to pack about 10 pounds of snacks and expect to take “snack breaks” about 2 minutes out the door and at 5 minute intervals thereafter, pretty much defeating any cardio benefits.
Well, as I said, I am now close to 6 years postpartum, and before I turn 40, I have set for myself the goal of getting back to my prebaby weight and shape, with or without my source of weight gain's (Vaughn's) cooperation. I think the shape part of my goal is futile, but I told myself I was for sure cleaning out my closet this year if I didn’t fit into my size 2’s. Hope springs eternal!
Well…back to the treadmill.
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