We recently went through a brief period of wondering if we were experiencing Birth Control Failure Number 3. My reaction was something along the lines of: “oh my god I might be pregnant please tell me I’m not pregnant again right now waaaaahhhh” with brief moments of “BAAAAAAYYYYBEEEEE!!”
Zach and I both want to have a couple more kids, just not quite yet. Maybe soon (ish). But not now. We have plenty of reasons to wait awhile longer. For one, I’m enjoying having my body belong to just me for a change; no supporting of another life in utero or through breastfeeding. All the calories is mine nom nom nom. Also, next time I give birth I’d really like to try to aim for it to happen any time other than the freaking hottest days of the hottest month of the freaking year. Just, you know, ideally.
One of the biggest things this pregnancy scare (is that still what you call it when you’re married and already have two kids???) brought to light, however, is how much I really want to get my body in better shape before getting pregnant again. I had a really rough time of it with both pregnancies, and I’d like to try to do what I can to avoid that on the next go-’round. Numero uno on the list is improving my core strength (hopefully with the side effect of flattening the ol’ belly pooch a bit).
So I’m trying something I’ve never done before: exercising. (Commence snickering at my expense). I confess, I am downright lazy when it comes to exercise. While I never seem to sit down, either at work or home, I am also not one for physical exertion. I absolutely loathe sweating. It feels hot and prickly and stingy and all kinds of uncomfortable awfulness to me. I also cannot stand to be where anyone can watch me do any form of exercise. I can’t really explain why, other than that it makes me feel immensely self-conscious in a very bad way. I am uncoordinated, have never played a team sport in my life, don’t actually even know the rules to most sports, my arms are about as useful as a T-Rex’s, I have been known to sprain my ankles walking on flat pavement and my thighs burn just pushing the stroller up the moderately inclined single city block between our house and the donut shop. Exercise is not my friend.
But I’m doing it. I’m too late to catch the New Year’s Resolution bandwagon, but I’m jumping on anyway. I’m alternating what form of exercise I do each day in hopes that variety will help hold my interest and motivation. On Tuesday I did a relaxing home yoga routine. On Wednesday a pilates core strength dvd that kicked my butt and made everything hurt for days. On Saturday I went to a yoga class where 50 year old women were able to hold the poses with more grace and stamina than I could. But I’m still doing it. I’m aiming for every day, knowing that in reality that will (at best) equate to three or four days a week. Which is three or four days more per week than I’ve ever really done before, so I’m totally okay with that. I made myself a sticker reward calendar and everything. So pass the ibuprofen this way, because I’m totally doing this.