Notes to self.

The day came. The day went.  As they all do.  For some people, it was the best day of their life, for some it was the worst.  For some it was the first and also the last.  The rest of us are somewhere in between.  I’m still marveling at how time marches on.  Five years has seemed like nothing and yet, it was a lifetime ago.  I was a different person then. 

Moving on…

I got a membership to the YMCA (standby Village People….Village People GO!) last week.  And I signed Ella up for gymnastics.  Even with preschool, she still needs some kind of activity I think.  It’s good for her to have some way of marking the days.  Today is Tuesday.  On Tuesdays we go to gymnastics.  That kind of thing.  This afternoon was her first class.  I didn’t stick around for much of the class because, as I learned from swim lessons, she is a mess when I’m around.  Turns out, she’s about as into gymnastics as swimming.  It looks good when somebody else is doing it but…she’s just not all that brave when it comes to trying new things.  Especially if there is a chance of mortal peril.  You know, that 4 foot high monkey bar might make a mockery of us all.  She’s fine on the mats.  She participates.  Right up to the point where she is asked to hang on the bar.  So we’ll see how the next 6 weeks goes.  We may just chalk this up to experience and move on.

Meanwhile, my intention was to ditch my littles in the child care room and find a treadmill and hamster wheel myself into a size 12.  Good in theory.  Ella was busy with her class which left me about 40 minutes to do as I pleased.  Yes?  So I pry a screaming Amelia from my hip and hand her to the bored looking college girl in the kiddie room.  And walk away.  And put on my headphones and plug them into the treadmill (which, by the way, has its own TV screen with cable…how cool is that?).  I lost myself in Fox News and then the local news.  For exactly 12 minutes. 

I see Amelia being toted by one of the front desk workers, pacing the space outside the fitness center.  On one of the passes by Amelia saw me.  Made eye contact.  And turned a shade of angry red that I have never seen in a human baby.  We’re talking baboon ass red. 

I ignore her.  And keep treading on the mill.  The Y staffer comes up behind me and I sigh and look down at the stats as I shutdown the treadmill.  13 minutes.  55 lousy calories.  And didn’t even get to see the weather.  Figures.  I take my baby from her who proceedes to continue crying and refuses to calm down even after we left the vicinity of that torture room full of age appropriate toys and crayons and playmates.  I mean, how dare I leave her in that hovel (she says in her best Stewie voice). 

If I had peanut butter M&Ms in my house right now, I would be angrily eating the whole bag.

This?  was supposed to be my time.  My out.  My way to calm my nerves and get out all the frustrations.  It was my way to do something for myself instead of for everyone else.  I don’t want to arrange (and pay for) childcare just to work out or do some kickboxing (which looks totally theraputic).  This was supposed to be easy.  And fun.  And good for us all. 

Unless you’re two.  And then it’s tatamount to child abuse.