A situation composed entirely of COMPLETELY UNFAIR CIRCUMSTANCES is going on here, and I have to tell you, I TOLD ME SO about going to the gym. Aside from all of the good things that come from going to the gym, nothing good ever comes from going to the gym.
I told you we were thinking about joining the YMCA, and we did join. And I was going every weekday, even though I still hate it, even though no one’s promises about the joys of exercise have ever come true, and even though it triggers extreme paranoia about how I smell at any given moment. I had been going every day, because it was good for me, and because dropping Penny off at the child care area was good for her.
The child care area has been great. They really like Penny, and there’s usually one child minder for the babies alone. Penny’s often the only baby, but I’ve never seen more than two or three there at a time, with plenty of attention given to them. And they’re separated from the galloping hooligan older children. Man, I’m glad Penny’s going to stay a baby forever.
Anyway, to add insult to what is sure to be inevitable injury, considering I just now kind of hurt my neck while trying to scratch my back, with Phil being gone for three weeks, I have to somehow convince myself that exercise qualifies as my alone time. No one comes home in the afternoon to give me a little baby relief, so I have to drop her off at the child care center in the Y, and then exercise, and tell myself that it’s great and restful and rejuvenating and totally the same thing as flopping on the couch in my underpants and watching Ellen while Phil takes care of the baby for a little while, but you know what? It’s not the same. I try to make myself at home on the treadmill, with my headphones and my videos and what not, but watching the elegance of upstairs/downstairs life in Downton Abbey loses something when you’re huffing and sweating and trying to stealthily check yourself for stink.
I am pretty sure I will never been one of those people who craves exercise, or feels like the day isn’t complete without a workout, or enjoys any of the benefits that high school gym teachers promise will come from putting on a stinky pinny and trying to be enthusiastic about dodge ball. There will always be something I would rather be doing. There will always be something I would rather be doing that I would never choose to do under normal circumstances. I’m saying I would always rather be cleaning my toilet.
But I’ve KEPT GOING ANYWAY. Even on days where I’ve decided to skip it, where I’m sure I’m not going to go, where I eye up the toilet and its need for a scrub, I have gone. Sometimes the decision to go is made three minutes before I’d need to be out the door, but I have GONE.
And do you know how I have been rewarded for this? For joining a gym, putting on gym clothes, dealing with smell worries, ignoring the people who are actually working out in favor of plodding along watching television, for exposing Penny to other children and the experience of learning that when we leave her somewhere, we always come back?
Here I am, Phil gone for three weeks, and I’m still going to the gym and taking Penny to experience life outside of my hermitty bubble, and how am I rewarded? With PENNY’S FIRST COLD. Penny’s first cold, which has coincided nicely with Phil’s trip and the cutting of four teeth, along with the frustrated baby shrieks and indignant refusal to sleep that come along with trying to learn a new skill, causing my still-immobile baby to find herself on her belly and confused in the middle of the night, needing not only to be rescued, but also a loving parent on which to rub her snot.
And so we are watching endless Sesame Street and I am dealing with a baby who insists on being held and not held AT THE SAME TIME, because “YOU ARE NOT DADDY AND I ONLY LET DADDY HOLD ME BUT HOLD ME BECAUSE I DON’T FEEL GOOD PUT ME DOWN NOT DADDY HOLD ME.”
So I’ve missed a couple of days at the gym, because she’s been miserable, and I’ve been trying to hold and not hold her at the same time, dealing with a baby who wants both to be cuddled and to headbutt me repeatedly, and also, she PINCHES, and that would be okay, kind of, because I hate them gym and also, PJs@TJ’s is next week and I still have so much to do. And she seems like she’s starting to rally a bit, or at least she did last night, so I took her to Chipotle and she was delighted to eat a quesadilla and then equally delighted to… project it back over the floor of said Chipotle. And then again all over Phil’s side of the bed.
But now I also am sick, because Penny has insisted on rubbing her gross drippy face directly onto mine, and I still have a lot to do, and Phil is still not here, and I can’t even watch Downton Abbey because I told myself I could only watch it AT THE GYM, where I can’t go right now, because Penny brought home pestilence FROM THE GYM.
It is also kind of possible that she might have gotten the plague from that time I was too lazy to put her shopping cart cover down and I turned around for a minute to ponder my choice of frozen chicken products only to turn back and find her sucking on the cart handle. But it was probably the gym.
Here is a photo from happier times.
OH, ALSO? I found an injured baby bunny in the yard and I had to take it to an emergency vet and they put it down. That doesn’t really go with the rest of the post, but I feel like it’s part of the whole package of my suffering right now.