Navel Gazing with the Best of Them

Now that I'm through the worst of the postpartum whackness period, I've started ruminating on a rather odd, certainly solipsistic topic:  me.  Yep, moi-meme. Sort of a stupid thing to think about as soon as you birth your sixth child, right?  But 10 years into motherhood, 6 years into being a "stay at home mom," and suddenly I realize my sole sources of pleasure are sex, wine and shopping (surely that's the name of  a sitcom?).  It would behoove this whole mass of writhing life if I could figure out something, something, that keeps me sane, happy, and doesn't involve spending even MORE money.

Oh, right - I forgot:  margaritas also give me pleasure.

But that doesn't count either.

I don't need a lot of "me" time.  But I do need something that I like to do - say an hour per week, maybe two - that I look forward to, that doesn't involve butt wiping, homework, cleaning crumbs, or blow outs.  This is my life - it's going to be my life for a long, long while - and I don't want to be a grump around these kids.  My children and my husband will always come first, but if I don't seize a little something for myself, all that will emerge in 18 years is a tired, cranky crone, and I will only have myself to blame.

Which is why I've seized upon the gym thing:  something I can do where they have childcare!  I've been hesitant to embrace the whole "working out" thing - there have been times in my life where I became obsessive about diet and exercise, to the detriment of my sanity - so it's something I want to approach cautiously.  But if I can have an hour within sight of adults - real adults! - and just have FUN - because holy freak how fun is it to jump around, dance and stretch just for the sheer physical pleasure of doing something, unencumbered with many little bodies attached to my chest or hanging off my leg?

I was about to ditch the whole thing, though - because Margaux wasn't ever lasting more than 20 minutes in the child care area.  But the other day - she made it through a whole hour!  I ran down the stairs to the nursery, sure she was either sound asleep or dead, but no - a lovely brunette was holding her - had been holding her the whole time.  Margaux looked a little pissed, but otherwise peaceful.  It turns out this girl had held her most of the time.  Margaux's own father holds her, too, of course, but not for THAT LONG...what was the crucial difference...?   OH.  She is nursing her OWN daughter.  I think she just SMELLS right to my baby girl.

Perhaps, then, I will try to time my "workouts" when my fellow bovine female is working the nursery.  And apparently I am desperately in need of a bit of remediation:  I was only capable of 2 of the 10 sit ups my personal trainer assigned me.

I guess that's what 5 C-sections does to one's core.