After two and a half years straight of being pregnant or post baby, I can finally fit back into my pre-Eli and Ava jeans. To celebrate, I thought maybe I should work a little harder at it and pull out my old pilates video (yeah, I'm cool). To top off the coolness factor, the only time I really have to do it is while the kids are napping and during Nate's "quiet time". This means that I have to subject my son to it. (Sure hope his childhood is a blur.)
I was trying to jazz the whole experience up for Nate, telling him why it's important to exercise and how it builds strong muscles and all that in the hope that he might join me instead of just staring at how dumb I looked. I showed him how he could do some other things like jumping jacks, run in place, or push-ups just hoping that he would quit using me as his entertainment.
Although my feeble attempts did not move him from off the play chair that he had pulled up in front of me to make me a spectacle, something I said must have stuck. Tonight (almost a week later-yeah, I'm a slacker), just before Nate crawls up into bed he looks at me and gets this cute "big boy" look on his face and says, "You know, mom, I do push-ups every morning." I look at him, trying not to smile as I picture this little four-year old in his pajamas doing his "push-ups" before he leaves his room in the morning, and I say, "You do?" He says proudly with a little shake of his head, "Yep, ev-wey mone-ning" (ya gotta have the full effect).
He could certainly teach me a thing or two about self-discipline. At this rate he's going to be buffer than me in a matter of weeks.
