It actually wasn't so bad. The gym wasn't the usual muscle show it is during the afternoon when no one is really working out but just standing there flexing and posing. That's when the pretty people go. 8am is more my style. There were maybe 3 guys working out with trainers but mostly the gym was full of moms like me with messy ponytails, no makeup, and loose behinds. Except for the girl on the Stairmaster in front of me, wench.
It was really nice going early and coming home to a baby fed and ready to nap. By the time she was down, I had worked out, showered, changed our sheets, swept, and now I am doing this. But honestly, I really only went to get JD off of my back. You see, every time I go into my closet and try something on that doesn't fit properly or makes me feel like a wannabe M.I.L.D., he says "go to the gym." Not in a nagging your-postpartum-body-disgusts-me kind of way. Just a I'm-getting-sick-of-hearing-you-complain-get-up-and-do-something-about-it way. And he's right. I just needed to get up and do something.
So this morning I did. When I came home he asked if I felt all discouraged and bad about myself. Ummm, no. But now I know how he feels about my physique. I actually felt pumped and excited that I can and will do something. It was probably just the endorphins talking, but whatever. Beatrice was alive and well and eating pancakes with half of her diaper unattached when I returned, but alive nonetheless. So I guess I will be working out now. No more excuses. JD will have his M.I.L.D. after all.