“Mama, your tummy is bigger than your milk (a.k.a -boobs)”
That’s all I needed to hear before dusting off my running shoes. After “letting go” and “just be happy” with my postpartum body, I haven’t done a single exercise, while eating whatever and whenever. I figured, the weight will come off when I stop nursing, just like the way it happened with my first child. I felt a sense of confidence, a feeling of freedom, in not caring about my weight. Besides, isn’t nursing the best diet out there?
All good things, including the euphoria of delusion, must come to an end. The innocent, but very observant comment from my 4 year old son brought me down to the reality. Unlike my first post-partum days, the pounds did not simply come off, and I am still miles away from my original size. The extra weight that moved in with pregnancy with my second child, stayed and hung around like an unwelcomed guest. Enough waiting around. It was time to do something about it.
I barely managed to squeeze into my old work out clothes, bribed the kids with snacks, and hit the pavement with the stroller. My legs felt heavy and immediately I began regretting not wearing another layer of a jogging bra. As I began to pump my arms, and tried to pound the pavement, I felt my body moving independently from me, doing its own rhythmic flabby dance. Didn’t matter. I was determined to get my work out.
I reached the stop sign down the street. My heart was pounding and I stopped to catch my breath. I waited for the light to turn so I can cross the street.
HONK, HONK!
I was startled by a jeep full of surfer –looking-dudes. Not sure why, but immediately, I flashed the biggest, ear-to-ear smile, and waved my flabby arms to say hello to the surfer-looking-dudes. If they raised their hands, I would’ve jumped up to high-five them. If they had a camera, I would’ve posed in my best angle. Call it adrenalin, or just an old habit, but I felt like I was 20 something all over again. I felt alive, and felt like I can run another mile.
Then the light turned green, and cars began to move. Just as I began to also pick up the pace, I heard the jeep peel away with a loud “GO—MMMMM oooooo mmm!!”
My legs froze. I was stunned. Can’t explain why I was so surprised, but I didn’t expect to hear a “MOM” cheer. Did they notice my kids sitting in the biggest double stroller ever? Did they see my muffin-top-postpartum-belly? All that energy and endorphin rush just drained out of me. I felt exhausted, old, fat, and completely unmotivated to take another stride. “Go-Mom”? Why did it feel so awful to hear someone say “Go-Mom”??
After moping around for another few weeks, I finally signed up for a Mommy Bootcamp. We meet at 6 o’clock in the morning, and now I love the freedom to exercise and work out with other moms, minus the kids. In a few weeks, I plan to go running again, without the kids. We’ll see who’ll “Go-Mom” me this time. I’ll let him have it.
