Tuesday, 18 February 2014

I Don't Even Know Who I Am Anymore

A\ couple of weeks ago I was reclining on the couch, minding my own business, when LB walked over to me, lifted up my shirt, pointed and my stomach, and laughed. Hysterically.

Repeatedly.

Pointing at my stomach and laughing became her favourite game.

So I did what any rational person does: I wrote her out of the Will then I self medicated with complex carbohydrates.

But seriously.

Dan and I came to the realization that we are only getting older from this point out. Older and more decrepit. And despite having a baby who likes to tear our self-esteem to shreds, we sort of want to be around for her for the long haul. Walking with LB was my daily form of exercise until she insisted upon walking too, now on our daily walks my heart rate spikes just about as much as snail that's found out it's about to become escargot. So in other words, it doesn't.

Now couple all this together with the fact that I have spent the last year thinking I'm 31.

Internet, I'm 32.

I AM A YEAR OLDER THAN I THOUGHT I WAS.

I am turning 33 this year, not 32!

To say I panicked would be an understatement.

I had a full on meltdown.

So I have taken charge of my physical health by carving out the only time in the day, at the moment, where I can workout: those early morning hours when everyone else is still sleeping.

I have been getting up at 6 a.m. to do yoga (I can do that since my knees and elbows bend and shit now), and I don't even know who I am anymore. I HATE MORNINGS. But I'm rising for the greater good of looking after myself, and through my bleary and droopy eyes I can see the sun rising.

And sometimes, on good days, my brain even acknowledges the brilliant colours streaking across the sky and feels glad to have been awake to see them.

1 comment:

Dad said...

Wait until she starts running Cait. Better start your training now!