Break Dancing and Hindrance Techniques

This week is the first in which we have decided to begin the countdown to weaning our youngest.  I say “we” in the same sense one says, “We need to clean out the garage.” While these pronouns imply a sense of teamwork, something you and I will do together, what I really mean is, “You need to clean out the garage.” So when I say we are in the beginning stages of weaning, what I really mean is, “I have decided to begin the countdown to weaning our youngest.”

      Breastfeeding my children has afforded me the luxury of not having to diet after my children were born.  While I wasn’t one of those women who used it as a license to be a glutton, it did spare me from having to closely watch every morsel that touched my lips.  In addition to not having to be a calorie-Nazi, I was also able to work out at my leisure. 

      While I walk several times a week in effort to maintain some level of physical fitness, this week I decided I needed to push myself a little harder and maybe even mix up my routine by adding in some different work outs in order to offset the changes that would occur once Emersyn is weaned. 

      My kids were happily playing so I saw this as my perfect opportunity to squeeze in a new workout. I put in my Turbo Jam DVD and the second Chalene greeted me with too much enthusiasm…my workout was over.

      I’m not kidding.  My kids literally dropped what they were doing and were drawn to the TV screen like a mosquito to a bug zapper.  They couldn’t look away.  In the beginning they smiled adorably and clapped along.  Ronan joined in mimicking the moves the best he could.  This action soon morphed into break dancing directly in front of the screen with several shouted warnings of, “Look out, Mom!”, as he spun by me. 

Emersyn gleefully clapped her hands and bounced along until she realized this dance party wasn’t going to end any time soon.  She took the stand-in-front-of-mom-so-she-can’t-move-without-knocking-me-over approach. I quickly found a distraction for her and made an attempt to get back into my workout. I’ll give my daughter credit for being persistent.  She was right back at my legs in 5.7 seconds balancing in effort to stand as her mother continued to bounce around and punch at the air like a lunatic.

If all of the break dancing and hindrance techniques weren’t enough to make this workout completely useless, how about the fact that at one point the dog joined the revolt?  I’m not kidding.  The dog actually came and stood so close to me that I could feel him against my leg. 

About midway through, I found myself laughing.  I’m not sure if I was laughing because I found the situation all that humorous or if it was the result of feeling like a mental patient.  Either way, I’m pretty sure I read that laughing is good for your abdominals, so that may have been the most effective part of my workout.

I learned something this week.  I learned that the reason moms don’t work out isn’t because they are lazy, out of time, or even lack motivation…it’s because they have children!

 If you happen to be one of those rare species of mothers who get in an honest-to-goodness workout more than once a week, rock on, girlfriend!  And wear a bikini for me…because at this rate, I won’t be ready for swimsuit season anytime in the next 10 years.

 To the mom whose only success at working out is when her kids are strapped into a device in which they cannot escape…and to the mom who has decided that there are not enough endorphins in the world to make up for the effort that is needed to exercise with young children…you’re not alone!

**When I was able to recover from my laughing fit, I grabbed my camera to document the absurdity that was unfolding before me.  For your viewing pleasure…my non-workout…**

Everyone's feeling good at the beginning...

Ronan learning the moves...

Ronan break dancing...

Will this dance party ever end?

Holding onto my leg in a valiant effort to stop the madness...

If the kids can't stop you, maybe I can...

Finally...it's over!  You've come to your senses.