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Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Excuses Are Like A$$holes


...everyone has one and they all stink.

Except my excuses.  Mine are two and 17 months old and...ok, they do stink sometimes.  And they cry a lot.  And one of them doesn't sleep very much. 

But guess what? I am not interested in raising excuses.  I want to raise small people who will eventually become big people; big people who are responsible and dedicated and healthy; big people who won't blow off a commitment because they didn't get great sleep last night.  How can I expect those things of them if I don't expect them of myself?

When I was pregnant with my first, a friend complained to me that she wanted to tone her (hardly noticeable) post-baby belly but didn't have time to work out because of her job and her kid.

To me, that sounded like a statement made by someone who was gonna just have to get over one of two things: either A) her excuses or B) her waistline.

Incidentally, she has reportedly been hitting the gym recently, so it looks like she ultimately went with option A.  She looks great.  She always did (damn her).

As for myself, I believe I am a person who values fitness.  It's hard to separate that value from who I am, even as I have also become someone's mommy (and then someone else's mommy).  

And yes, that means I spend a nap time or two working out in my living room, thus breaking Mommy Commandment #1 (sleep when the baby sleeps).  

And yes, it means that a couple times a week, in order to satisfy my exercise co-dependency, I leave Ready or Not Dad in charge for a couple hours to go on a group run or to a spin class.  And yes, that means I am up as early as 4am to change diapers, nurse, and pump before class.  And yes, Daddy is then is left to sacrifice a bit of sleep or peace (or both) in my absence.  And yes, I feel guilty when I leave the house.  And yes, he works extraordinarily long hours at a job no amount of money would lure me into.  And yes, he probably spends those few hours when I leave him alone with the boys plotting his escape (or possibly my death)

But we have agreed that my present job is baby feeding and toddler herding and that job is 24/7.  And yes, it is work (we have both learned this little nugget the hard way).  So even if he works a 15 hour day, he dutifully puts on his big boy pants to give me the gift of 'no excuses' and a little respite from my mommy dungeon.

And yes, I love him for it (and for so many other reasons).

So here are a list of excuses and why they won't hold up in court.

1.  I'm too tired: Well, get over it.  I can either toddle around like a drunken zombie all day, or I can spike my energy for a couple of hours with a little adrenaline rush....then resume toddling once that wears off.  An hour of cardio is worth at least 2 cups of coffee in terms of energy boosting.  

2.  I'm too out of shape:  I know, it sounds like a ridiculous excuse, but it's one that I really struggle with right now.  It's true that when I run, I presently look like an oversized Oompa Loompa chasing a donut.  I've caught sight of it in storefront windows and frankly, it's appalling.  So yes, the fact that I would be subjecting perfect strangers to that grotesque image is a bit of a deterrent.  But I think we all know how to debunk this particular excuse without too much effort.  I either get out there and run some more or my Oompa Loompa figure quickly balloons into something closer resembling Jabba the Hut...and there ain't nobody who needs to see that guy chase a donut.  



3.  I'll do it later: No you won't.  There is no later.  Later is a myth made up by the same evil doers who invented the snooze button.  It either happens right now, while I have two fed and sleeping children and/or a willing sitter or else it 
Will. 
Not. 
Happen.  

4.  I have too much other stuff going on:  Is that other stuff going to make my heart healthier (thus effectively battling the shotty heart disease that runs rampant in my family) or my pants fit again (thus saving me from a lifetime of maternity-wear)??  Will it give me my self confidence back and make me less hostile towards naturally skinny bitches (i.e. most of my friends)?  

No?  

Then fine, I'll see you at the gym.

It's true, excuses are a lot like a$$ holes.  But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let mine hold me hostage with it's filthy stench.  




    



  

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