Baby weight + multiple batches of biscuits and ice cream = pouchy tummy.
I’m not an idiot, I know how it works – energy in versus energy out. Seeing as I will not be giving up biscuits, ice-cream or inappropriate serving sizes of pork belly and roast potatoes any time soon (nor could I possibly let y’all down by going all ‘lettuce and mung bean’ on you), I need to step up my calorie burning. Walking to the fridge, sadly, isn’t actually classified as exercise. I have been to bootcamp once in the last year, and I’m fairly sure that’s not quite the requisite calorific expenditure for negative gearing. Shame.
I packed the kids into the Titanic and on a cold winter’s morning, we hit the pavement for a run. Yeah….I know.
Simulateously, I broke one of my cardinal rules. I vowed, upon moving to the ‘burbs, to never, ever, wear track pants out of the house. I had a particularly ugly pair to help me stay true to this vow, until recently…….well folks, as I was dressing for this jaunt I thought if ever you can get away with sweats in public, it’s on an early winter’s morning run. My new trackies are fluorescent lime so I reasoned with myself that, in fact, I was wearing them for my children. These puppies are like a traffic safety beacon on my arse. I knew we wouldn’t be missed in the early morning haze.
Cast your mind back….from memory, how many women have you seen running with a double pram? Especially one not specifically designed for such behaviour?
Not sure? Can’t remember? Let me tell you – Not. Bloody. Many.
By the time you have a toddler, a baby, a nappy bag, plus snacks packed into the actual pram, you’re looking at about 40 kilos. Pushing it up-hill like a lumbering Hunchback with a twisted bowel, I felt like a reverse Husky in the morning mist. What I really needed was D Man to be yelling ‘mush, mush’ whilst flicking a crop at me, but all I got was him yelling ‘yummies, nyummies’ at the top of his lungs. At least it let people know to get out of the way, as my pram steering is sketchy at speed (when I say speed, I mean, jerky, laboured walk/run).
It appears something wacky happens to my pram at this pace. The left front wheel locks in forward and refuses to swivel for easy turning. Great for straight lines but alas, the world is not flat and the paths are not straight. D Man ended up off one gutter and in three bushes. He didn’t complain because he’s quite the Knievel, and he can’t really talk.
You may recall a couple of months ago I wrote about being desperate and dateless on the buddy front out here in the wilds (if you missed it, you can catch up here). Well, D man and I were out cruising in the local park recently and we were picked up. I didn’t have to use my smooth lines as this Mama practically threw herself at me. She was in the same boat. We’ve been on a couple of ‘walking’ dates, shared afternoon tea and today we progressed to a home-made boot camp in our local park. Yes, sir, I done gots me a bonafide friend. I refrained from wearing my lime greens, though, as I don’t wish to peak too soon in our relationship.
Anyway, the moral to the story is, I’m not going to buy a bigger pair of jeans. I’m determined to get back in my old ones. If I have to rock a little muffin top, I’m down with that (seems de rigueur out here anyhoo), but by jove, on September 1st, I’ll be wearing my old faithfuls.
Watch this space…….. (she types whilst eating ice cream – my determination is inspiring, no?)