Like all mothers, I dreamed of being brave, selfless, loving, and hot. Yes, you heard me. Hot. What?! I’m just being honest. Of course, hot wasn’t the first thing on my list, but it was definitely on the short list.
Pinterest was super helpful for me in the beginning with its suggestions of cute outfits, life hacks, and exercise ideas, but unfortunately, Pinterest won’t actually deliver any of these things to my life or closet. It’ll recommend some interesting workouts or belly busting moves but won’t actually do the working out for me so… damn it.
I’ve never found the pleasure in working out that others have. I don’t want to do sit ups. I don’t want to sweat. Actually, I hate sweating which is really a problem when exercising in island weather. And I really hate running. I don’t even pretend to understand running. Why would you run, non-stop without a reason… like a bear chasing you? Running is terrible. I know it isn’t terrible in that good-for-your-health way but it actually makes me physically angry. In fact, running to me is as enjoyable as being wedged in the back seat between two car seats of kids “doing my hair” (aka pulling). And I’d choose the wedgie every time.
See, if you haven’t caught on, I don’t actually want to exercise to be a hot mom, I just want to be a hot mom.
Luckily, the nature of two young kids (aka the bandits that turned my body into the rollier version of what it used to be) is that they are decently helpful in keeping parts of it less rolly. Since they still need want to be carried, my arms don’t need much other heavy lifting. Whew… dodged that flabby arm bullet. And with a 3rd floor walk up (no choice – there is no elevator) my legs and gluteus area are also fine. But regrettably, my major problem zone has never been my arms or my legs. The problem zone is my belly; the place I store my wine and waffles, the belly that, after having two bandits, stretched like green slime on a hot day never to return to its original form. For that belly, there is no easy remedy.
I refuse to become someone who denies herself what she wants to eat. I will never be a girl who orders salad when what I really want is a burger. Wine will never be off the table for me. In fact, it will always be on the table, uncorked. So since I don’t plan on curbing my food or booze intake, I fear that as much as I have tried to tone up my mid-area with hopeful wishes and encouraging glasses of Merlot, I might have to actually do some work.
I start Pilates today. God help me. God help us all.