The excuses I made for not exercising post-delivery have officially expired. Now that we have a jogging stroller, now that Rowan is able to ride in it, and now that spring has (dare I say it and risk jinxing it?) finally sprung in Chicago, it’s time to get my rear in gear. I know the leftover belly fat is fond of me, but I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.
To be clear, I know I’m fortunate that the majority of my baby weight came off much faster than I thought it would. And considering that I grew a human, there’s not as much of a paunch as I’d expect. But I’m tired of seeing what is there, and more importantly, I’m growing tired of hearing myself complain about it without doing anything to remedy the situation. It’d be one thing if I’d been sweating buckets and counting calories trying to reach a goal; however, I’ve been sitting back and hoping that breastfeeding would take care of everything.
No more! With my birthday, my friend’s wedding, and my high school reunion all coming up at the end of June, I have more than enough motivation to whittle my middle. Not to mention the best motivation of all—demonstrating to my son the importance of fitness. I remember my mom being active while my sisters and I were growing up, whether it was taking a step class (remember the ’90s?) or walking with friends. And she’s still a great example for me to keep fit, attending yoga classes, trying paddle boarding, and walking the neighborhood, rain or shine.
So I pulled out the free weights and broke in the jogging stroller. I’ve even learned some belly blasting exercises that incorporate my sweet little boy. I’m pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to find the time and energy to exercise; but what I usually lack after the first two weeks, unfortunately, is the drive. And now that I’ve hit that mark, I’m trying my best to push through it. It would help if I noticed any positive difference in my physical appearance, but instead, body dysmorphia kicks in and I feel like I look bigger than I did before exercising. Not exactly a motivator, you know?
I promised myself I’d give it three months, so fingers crossed that something happens by then. Worst case, I’m getting a little extra fresh air out and about with Rowan. Best case, I’m less embarrassed to wear a bathing suit in time for swimming season!