Workout of the Day

I walked to the mailbox today.  Man, that sh1t is far away. 

That said, the stairs in my house are no longer the daunting task that they were during pregnancy.  I can actually walk up them without having to take a break mid-way. 

My body looks a lot like it did in college.  A little swollen, big boobs, and a beer gut.  Although, back then, it was due to the beer.  And tequila.  And whiskey.  And cheese fries.  Oh, the cheese fries. 

My goal for Friday is to walk our street.  It's about a half mile long...so there and back will be a mile.  It's our usual dog walking path, but I will probably do it without the pugzys because it will likely take me at least an hour.  Stupid stitches.  Making me an invalid.  I was watching The Biggest Loser tonight (BTW - what is UP with all the bungee jumping?  I don't watch this show to watch bungee jumping or to hear stupid metaphors about life that are related to bungee jumping.  I watch it for the workouts and the weight loss.  End rant.) and was VERY jealous of their workouts.  And then I looked through all my friends pics who ran Boston (shout out to Audrey who ran Boston for the first time!  Congrats!).  And then through the NOLA 70.3 pics (special shout out to Allison who raced her first 70.3 in New Orleans this past weekend!  Even though the swim was cancelled, she rocked it!).  And then the MS150 pics...  I was GREEN with envy.    Green I say!  Soon, little Paduwon.  Soon.

In baby news, this is funny.  That said, you know  you are hormonal when this makes you cry so hard that you can't even it read it aloud to your husband.  Dear lord.  The hormones. 

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.


May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.

-Tina Fey