Much as I try to convince myself that my entire wardrobe has shrunk in the wash, there's no getting away from it: I have put on weight. Sigh. But how? How is this physically possible, when every single day I am subjected to a gruelling workout by my very own personal trainer?
That's right, my personal trainer. A real tyrant, even when I'm begging for respite he is relentless. Something of a maverick too, quite unique in his approach you might say. But his gorgeous good looks more than make up for it. Did I mention he is not quite 2 years old?
Yes I am at the mercy of my toddler who sees each day as an opportunity to put me through my paces. Just a few of the moves I've been subjected to this week:
The 100 yard dash.
A rurr rurr! A rurr rurr! Quick Mummy, don't you know there's a dog on the other side of the road?! Yes its a flat out sprint to stop T getting run over as he chases after the dog and its alarmed looking owner. Oh dear, the dog is disappearing into the distance and the only way to avoid a tantrum is:
A quick dive underneath the pushchair to find a toy, any toy, in the hope of distracting him from the doggy. Look darling, it's your car, how exciting! His face crumples. No car! Choo Choo! CHOO CHOO! Oh bugger did I bring the train? Another dive into the bottom of the pushchair to rummage around in search of his favourite train. For optimum health benefits this move should be carried out in a confined space- contorting oneself as you bend over will really work those hamstrings and... what, off again?!
This is the main cardio event. We've arrived at the park and the expanse of open space is overwhelmingly tempting to a toddler. We're off, running full pelt towards the swings, gaining speed, the wind in our hair...STOP! Hang on, we've stopped? Oh of course. T has found a leaf. A fucking leaf. T spends 5 minutes examining it whilst I collapse onto the nearest park bench. The park is getting busy so it looks like its time for:
Where's he gone? I leap up from my seat and scan the park, breathing a sigh of relief I spot him next to the slide. I lower myself down but before my posterior makes contact with the bench I'm up again. Where IS he? Ah yes, view obscured by other parents, there he is coming down the slide. Lower myself down again and...repeat for 15 reps or until...
Up! Up! Two arms outstretched and a wobbly bottom lip, exhausted. Time for home. Not in his pushchair though, where's the work out in that?! No, only a carry will do which means hoiking 2 stone of wriggly octopus all the way home.
Why am I not a size 8 after that?! Probably all the cake.