Springing for Change

I took a Pilates with Props class this morning. My butt was handed to me. Or perhaps my belly. The instructor was talking away, cuing the various motions, and I was laying on my mat thinking, "You want me to do what? Do I even have a muscle there to move?" Which just goes to show how much work I need to do. The instructor, and several of the class participants, are not sleek fitness models. They have mommy lumps. So I'm not scared to try again.

Monkey3 however... She was fine in the childcare. She was hapy to see me, and she ate a lot of lunch: macaroni and cheese and cut up blueberries. And then she screamed the entire time I was in the shower. I cuddled and snuggled her into happy. And then she screamed the entire time I was brushing and braiding my hair. She wanted my pink comb.

Seriously? It makes me not want to exercise. I go to a studio, not a gym, so a shower while she is still in childcare is not an option. Waiting until someone else is home to distract her while I clean up means I will never be clean before eight in the evening. At the earliest. By then I've forgotten I need a shower and am busy doing other things. Things I can't do with a busy toddler or while supervising homework.

This is why I don't "exercise" when the Monkeys are small. My clean-up time just puts them over the edge. This is why whenever I try to get into an exercise groove, I cut my hair short. It takes too much fussing.

Of course, my hair is really long now, the longest it has been since college. Someone asked me recently if it was a winter thing, to let it grow longer. I said, "No, more a third-child-almost-forty-time-to-do-something-different thing." The last time I had it cut and colored was right before I found out I was pregnant, though I had a bit of a trim and beautiful fuss-up shortly before Monkey3 was born. I figured out how to French braid my own hair, and that has been satisfying. But my hair is brittle and lifeless, so it's time to try something different again.