Lately it seems as though the days I have the energy and motivation I don’t have the time, and the days I don’t have the energy and motivation the time is there.
I’ve missed three Booty Camp classes. The first one I should have gone to, the reason I didn’t was more emotional than physical. The second and third I missed because of an intestinal virus that left me feeling weak and nauseous and I knew I couldn’t make it through the class.
This Monday I will be missing my fourth class in a row because I’m joining my sister at the Senators game.
Joe was away in Calgary last week and I was sick and alone with the baby for a few days, and I did a lot of cooking and baking to keep myself busy (plus, one of the ways to keep the baby girl entertained at the moment is to let her play with the plastic food containers, so hanging out in the kitchen is a plus).
So I went about two days without eating, and about a week without exercising at all.
Now I have a cold, and the baby has a cold and she’s waking up three or four times a night, which hasn’t happened in a while.
And I’m furious.
It seems as though every time I get a step ahead I get knocked right back down again. I can’t tell what’s an excuse and what’s legitimate any more. I can remind myself that I’m doing good things and I’m getting stronger but my head always gets in the way eventually.
Right now my only goal is to fit comfortably into my work clothes in the next two months, to stay steady and continue to remind myself what I’m working for – She’s about two and a half feet tall, starting to walk, she’s got one section of hair on her head that curls, and she’s a bit of a challenge every day.
I remind myself that my weight and my fears are stopping me from letting her experience things. I want her to have fun winters with sledding and skating and building snowmen and snow forts. I want her to have great summers with long walks in nature, climbing things, swimming, building castles in the sand.
She loves being outside, and I love taking her to explore the world. She reaches for me when she wants a helping hand to walk with or when she’s hurt and she wants a hug.
But last week I was so tired and so frustrated and so alone that I told myself I was a bad mother. My head kept telling me that I wasn’t talking to her enough, and I wasn’t reading to her enough, I was sitting down to play with her enough.
But I know I’m a good mother, and more than getting healthier and losing weight and being able to do things with my daughter – being able to keep up with her – more than being a model for a healthy lifestyle, I know that what I eat and what activity I do affects my mood, and that is becoming the most important thing.
The more fresh air I get, the more active I am, the less sugar I eat, the better I feel about everything I am, and I don’t have to stop the bad thoughts and remind myself that I’m a good mother, that she excels in every way, and that she is loved almost everywhere she goes and part of that is because of me.