Baby Girl is two months old now. It's time to start getting back into the swing of things.
Before getting pregnant, I was a work out everyday type. I'm not a fitness junkie or a gym rat. I don't like working out and I don't often pass on dessert, but I know I want to be healthy and part of that is taking care of my body. I've never been exceptionally skinny but I, just like everyone else, I'm sure, would like to look good in my clothes and, as of late, my clothes haven't been looking so hot. I am three sizes, count them: THREE sizes larger than I was pre-pregnancy and the new clothes I've purchased in that size still make me feel uncomfortable, which shows in how I hold myself. I'm uncomfortable and therefore lacking the confidence I once had. That being said, today is a special day; a day I looked at with hope and dread. Today is the day I start working out again.
I began easy with a quick 10 minute elliptical session (one that would have been longer had I been okay with losing my toenail... I am overdue for a pedicure too) and a simple, 15 minute yoga routine. Mazer was very kind to let me occupy myself with something other than her for those twenty-five minutes, but she wasn't feeling much more charitable. Seconds after whispering "namaste" I found myself in the middle of my living with a screaming child and a huge mess that is still littering my floor. I guess I can save time on tomorrow's work out by leaving my block, mat, ball, and bands centered on the carpet in my living room.
The work out may have been scant but I feel good. I put my mind to it and instead of making an excuse to take a nap or sit on my couch to watch Psych, I made good on my promise to myself and took a tiny step toward my favorite jeans.
Soon, I'll be back in shape.
Soon, I'll be able to chase my dogs.
Soon, I'll be back on the soccer field.
Soon, I'll be back in my Lucky denim.
And all I have to do is WERK.