#How i lost it

This write up is penned down for the fitness-blogging-contest at the world of moms. you may also find the same at www.worldofmoms.com. Happy reading.

#howilostit #worldofmoms #fitnesschallenge

“When I am motivated, I can move mountains” I said to my skeptical mom. “But I am motivated not to be motivated” I delivered the counter coupe. Mom rolled her eyes.

“My dear girl! Look at yourself. You look like a potato” she complained.

“And you look like a pumpkin” dad muttered under his breath. My 3 month old daughter laughed. She, more often than not, laughs at the right times and we could never make out if it was just a random laugh or if she really had the comprehension.

“Yes indeed! I look so full and I am damn proud of it” I declared without a moment of hesitation. Hubby gave me a thumbs up. The pregnancy had been kind to me.  I feel ‘metamorphosed’. Remember metamorphosis from the good old biology? Where in the ugly caterpillar transforms in to a spectacular butterfly? I kind of identify with it. From the sleek-bony-spinster to the proud-full moony-mamma. I bear my stretch marks with pride like a tiger. I carry the extra pounds like a blue whale. I radiate happiness like a glow-bee, all day, all night.

“I am sure you are!” mom doled out vehemently. “But darling, if you don’t start a work out now, it is not going to be any easier later.” WORK OUT. Those words sounded too foreign. It took some time for them to sink in. I flinched. Mistaking my silence as a sign of yielding, mom prodded further.

“Wear the waist belt. Follow diet. Hit the gym and last but not the least, eat these ‘kasturi’ tablets” she injected. I am not a gym person. Nor a salad person. So, these suggestion took me off guard. But the one that made me go bananas is the suggestion to consume local medication.

“Stop it woman!” dad jumped at my rescue. “Are you asking a qualified doctor to swallow the prescription of a quack?” I flashed him a thankful smile.

“But these are good for lactation” she tried to explain.

“Exactly! I am a feeding mom and I should not diet” I reasoned. When mom says diet, it is not the same as the balanced diet advocated by the dieticians. Her so-called-diet includes everything but for the dals because they are gassy, Green leafy veggies as they are hard to digest, Fish as it may cause allergy, Curd because it cools the body, Chicken because it heats the body and I don’t know what else because it does something or the other to the baby. Hubby handed me a bowl of papaya and I wolfed it before mom could think if it was a good idea or not.

“Oh! You are such a pampered wife and spoilt daughter” mom complained.

“But mom, you were the one who wanted me to put on some weight. Remember?” I took her on a trip down the memory lane. She felt irksome to answer the questions of nosy aunties whenever she had to attend a wedding. ‘So when are you inviting us to your daughter’s wedding?’, ‘size zero ah? I don’t know why these lads are so gaga about it’, ‘Does she still look the same?’

I had to explain her, time and again, that I have more of brown fat which prefers to burn and dissipate the extra calories as heat, rather than storing it as fat, That people liked to pick on what you don’t have, That ‘not-having-the-right-weight’ is not as bad as ‘not-having-the-right-attitude’.

“Oh god! Don’t give me that positive-body-image crap once again. Do as you wish” mom concluded. She lost it. I thought ‘Thanks to my hypothyroidism. I don’t look the same’. I tried hard not to smile in triumph. I wore the waist belt in an attempt to please her. I know that the binders or the waist belts have no role in dissipating the body fat. However, in the initial post-delivery days, they may help in ‘involution’ that is pushing down the uterus in to the pelvis.

“Let’s go for a walk. Shall we?” I nudged my mum. “Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh” my daughter cooed at the suggestion. It is our daily ritual. We carry her to the children’s park where she ogles at the kids, coos at the birds and gurgles at the cats and dogs.  A kid zoomed past us at rocket speed before his mum could catch up. Panting for breath as I carried my daughter, I wondered if I could ever dash as fast as these super moms.

"Why not?" protested my ego. I do not have an answer. My thirsty tongue, burning throat, air hunger, aching knees and soles spoke volumes. Damn this hypothyroidism. I was indefatigable before.

"Shall I carry her?" mom asked. "No" ego answered.

Nevertheless I looked around for a bench to relax. Most of them were taken by the elderly except the farthest bench slightly uphill. Heaving with each step, I kept my fingers crossed that the bench should not be taken by anybody else before I could reach it.

Am I the same person who rehearsed non-stop for seven days and seven nights for the fresher's dance performance? Am I the same person who scaled the mountain peaks of Rohan paas? Am I the same person who rallied the whole town on foot protesting abuse on doctors? Am I the same person who worked in the constantly bustling causality and trauma wards?

Sitting on the dilapidated wooden bench I said "Mom lets go shopping."

Mom gave me a supercilious look saying "For what?"

"Buy me a pair of sports shoe. Nike." I declared. ""After all, gym is not such a bad idea." Mom looked flabbergasted.

"I'm planning to partake this fitness challenge at world of moms. I can improve my fitness, if not figure." I explained her.

"What about your motivation not to get motivated?" she asked smiling.

"I lost it" I admitted sheepishly.