"Mom, why isn't the blue one doing it too?"
"Because...she's...the teacher."
"Why is she the teacher?"
"Because...(huff)...she...(puff)...is."
"And the other one is the kid?"
"Theyrebothgrownups."
"Why are they both grownups?"
"Mummycan'ttalkrightnow!"
It's Saturday morning and instead of 'thinking about the muscles we are working,' as Jillian instructs, I am discussing the relationship between Ms. Michaels and her hard-bodied exercise drones. Actually, this is the most focused I've been able to be on a workout in months. The fitness gods must be smiling on me because the baby fell asleep at nine, and I had time to vacuum and drag out the wooden train set before starting my workout. But instead of building tracks in the designated corner of the living room:
"Can I use your weights and you can use daddy's weights?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because...daddy's...weights...weigh...toomuch."
"How much do daddy's weights weight?"
"Twentyfivepounds."
"Twenty-five pounds?"
I grunt and try to focus on holding my measly two-pounders over my head for the second set of surrenders.
"So you can't do twenty-five pounds?"
I picture myself sprawled on the floor, two twenty-five-pound dumbbells pinning me to the carpet.
"No...(huff)...mummy...can't...do...twenty-five..."
"Why can you not do-"
"I'mgoingtoput....yourtrainsaway.....ifyoudon'tplaywiththem...now!"
It's not my highest point, but who knows how much more time I'll have before the baby gets up? Finally the video stream reaches 30 minutes, the point in the video I promised myself I'd reach before vacuuming the rest of the floors, hopefully before the baby wakes up. I skip forward to the last ten minutes of the video and settle in for a good stretching session, something I really need after months and months of hunched breastfeeding. My neck and shoulders are tight, and I feel the stretch there even more than in my legs or arms, which is what I've been working, according to Jillian.
I move into a straddle position and make to lean forward, stretching my inner thighs. Instead my three-year-old abandons the trains again and sits right in front of me.
"I want to stretch, too."
How can I say no? The best part of having this little guy around is moments like these, when he just wants to BE with me. Someday I'll be able to put my mental focus back into a workout. Someday I'll get through a stretching session without a little boy climbing all over me. Someday I won't have to endure the unending stream of questions from a three-year-old who innocently believes that his mom can do two sets of surrenders with twenty-five-pound weights. I hope that day doesn't come too soon.
