First of all, I’m performing in my first post-bub Gorilla Theatre at Loose Moose this Saturday. We’ve hired a babysitter and everything, so that Master Boob can make the jaunt up with me with littlest Boob in tow. All going perfectly, littlest B will sleep through the entire show, wake up comfortably at interval whereupon I shall feed him before busting back onstage in the second half.
Or…I’ll be forced to bring said child onstage and bring a performance out of him, though knowing how dark some of my child-related improvs have been in the past, that’s possibly not a good thing.
There, that’s said.
Secondly, the training, the training, the training! Well, as promised I bought my healthy snacks and pool pass, last night was my first night swimming – for twenty minutes straight. That doesn’t sound like a lot even on cyber-paper, but dang, you try doing it if you’re not a regular swimmer and shoot me if the minute hand of the clock seems like it’s completely stuck. Anyhoo, I made like Dory and pledged to “just keep swimming, just keep swimming…” and made it. I felt fantastic!! I felt jubilated!! I felt like my legs were about to buckle. But you know? I think I really can do this.
Note to t3mporal3lbow, your point on pacing myself is duly noted, considered and ignored.
Hehe, just kidding. I get it, I get it, I do need to not burn out, that seems to be the story of my life.
Then today was run/walk session number two with my coach, otherwise known as Little Miss Boob, resplendant in her six years of pint-sized motivational wisdom and penchant for backhanded compliments, including:
“You know Mum, you’re pretty fit! Not as fit as you should be, but pretty fit!”
“You can run really fast for someone your age!”
and finally, my personal favourite. Today at the swimming pool (not for my benefit, just a splash around with the kidlets), while getting changed into our swimming atire…
Little Master Boob (4): “Mum, you’re too fat to wear those!” (At which I very graciously neglected to point out that I’m but five weeks post-birth of number three, with him being but ONE tenant who has completely trashed the premises)
Little Miss Boob (6): “Little Master Boob, you can’t say that! That’s rude and hurts Mummy’s feelings!”
At which point, I’m about to hug her in a beautiful commercial-worthy moment, tearing up and congratulating her on her wisdom and sensitivity. Until she adds:
“What you can say is, ‘Your tummy is big and round.’