Running After Baby

"Are you running this morning?"  my husband asks. 

Yes, I'm running the risk of falling off the deep end.  

"Because I have to start getting ready for work at 7:30," he adds helpfully.  It's not even six a.m. and I'm already exhausted and pressed for time.

Whoever made up the saying "sleeping like a baby" was out of their mind.  Unless they meant the midnight-snacking, multiple-bathroom-episodes, relentless-tossing-and-turning, incomprehensible-fussing-and-weird-grunting-noises kind of sleep.  Cuz that's how my little bundle of joy rolls.  

Luckily she's so darn cute that I can't hold it against her.  Or her two-year-old brother, for that matter, when he climbs into the big bed at four in the morning.  By that point I'm too tired to send him back to his room.  Instead I drift listlessly in an early morning fog of diapers, spit-up, and ceaseless chatter about dump trucks and Thomas the train.  

With both adults in the house pursuing this hobby now, we have to work in our runs around each other.  I'll run after they are fed and dressed; he'll run after they are in bed.  It's not so bad because we still see each other...passed out on the couch.

Is it worth it - taking up this sport so soon after the baby was born?  That depends.  I used to think no.  I would stress all of the things that weren't getting done at the house, the time I wasn't spending with the kids, the lack of energy, the days running out on my maternity leave.  Luckily my spouse is a genius of justification:  I would have more energy day-to-day and net a longer life-span to spend with the kids if I undertook a regular fitness regimen.  So, justification?  Check.  Motivation? Ummm, I think I left that with the burp rag in bed.  

Or maybe on my laptop.  As ridiculous as it sounds, when running is the last thing I feel like doing, clicking through images on my Pinterest board gets my mind in the right place to hit the road.  There's something about sitting down with a nice strong cup of coffee and scrolling through hyperbolic statements about fitness paired with images of disembodied legs and minimalist running shoes that makes me think, "Yeah!  I'm one of those people...I'm a runner!"  And then the baby poops, and the toddler smears yogurt on my pants, and I realize that if I don't get twenty minutes of fresh air and adrenaline, my husband might come home from work to find me eating playdough and coloring on the walls.  I better do this while I can.  

"Yeah, I'm going on a run,"  I finally answer his question.  "I'll be back in half an hour."