Did I mention that I am back to my pre-pregnancy weight?
That was a rhetorical question, by the way. I will nonetheless answer it. So yes, I am. And honestly, it is not as spectacular a feeling as I always thought it would be. Not even close. It is just run of the mill, regular. I guess that’s what motherhood and maturity does to you. You discover so many more important, and deeper things in life, that such small things, which once seemed so important, cease to matter at all.
If I was not concerned about the fact that what the 100 odd people sitting around think about me has a direct repercussion on that x-digit number that gets credited to my account every month end, trust me, I would dramatically throw up a bunch of papers a-la Pehla Nasha (only here we need to really search for papers, you see we are going green) and then follow it with Aamir’s swirling routine in the song, slow motion and all.
I know, I know, shallowness personified. But what to do, we are like that only. And trust me, it hasn’t been easy. I mean, I look back upon myself, the last time I was working out and all, and I am like, ‘Ah, look at that lucky girl man! All the time in the world to work out, all the liberty to choose what she wants to eat, and at the end of the day, she will go home, plonk her ass on the Beanbag, and watch Sitcoms till it’s time to sleep.’
And look at now. Anyone who knows me even a little bit would also know that I, cannot wake up early. I , cannot work out in the mornings because mornings = sleep. And I, after a tiring day of work, working out etc, need my time off, and more importantly, my sleep.
What do I have instead? I have a maximum of 7 hours of sleep each night, punctuated a minimum of three times, each break lasting between 5 and 30 mins. After all that, now that I stay closer to work and have the liberty of leaving 5 minutes before I need to be in office ( which in the past would have read as an additional hour of sleep), for no particular reason, my hyperactive little Zo , who seems to live by the thought that ‘Sleeping is a waste of time’, chooses to sit right next to my head at 6 in the morning, and bang it till I am up. On other days, she chooses to wander around the bed, and then fall off it, and then I am all bright eyed and up. So either way, I am up at an ungodly hour each morning. But since I am solely responsible for the night-time breaks, the Dude entertains her in the morning, so I sometimes catch an additional hour of sleep.
Secondly, earlier, the evenings were mine. And now, the ownership has shifted in totality to Zo. From the moment I reach home from work, to when she falls asleep ( for that matter even after that, until I hand her over to The Dude in the morning to get ready for work), I belong to Zo. She demands, rather commands each moment. So my evenings are all about the kids play area, feeding Zo, getting her ready for bed, entertaining her till she wants to sleep, and then finally making her sleep. After which, I sit guard next to her, with the laptop, or a book (I have a booklight, yay!) till I decide to sleep myself. Also, if I took out yet another hour from my Zo time, after spending 7 hours at work, well, I think I would generally die of guilt.
So, the conclusion is that there just wasn’t enough time to workout. Till one sane person at work, who is an eerily similar situation as mine (and is as shallow) mentioned that there was time to do everything, all we need to do is; no, not re-prioritizing, or discipline, or any such jargon; all we need to do is give up on sleep.
Bad as it sounds, I gave up on that. You see, that extra hour in the morning I could have? Well, I started using that for dragging myself to the gym. The plus here being, that my current alarm has no snooze button I can hit. So, yep, for the past month and a half, that’s been the routine. The aim is 4 days a week.
The food is a whole different ball game. Given a choice, I would do the unhealthy thing of skipping meals in exchange for junk. You see, that’s my other love. Junk, and sleep. An unfit person’s lifeline. But since I am feeding Zo, er, that’s not a choice at all. So what do I have to do? Yep, cut down on the crap. Yes, poor me had to limit my intake of all things delicious, and by default harmful, to Saturdays only. The rest of the days are all about healthy (read bleh) meals. There is an occasional slip of the will-power, but if not for that, how would I be me?
But the bottomline is, it worked. And it worked better than I thought it would. If we want to talk numbers, let’s just say that last year, we gained weight in double digits, and though we lost almost half of it when Zo was born, what was left was still in double digits. You do the math. Or don’t. Seriously, don’t. No, no, not proud of it, but come on, all those chocolates, and ice creams, and mangoes had to go somewhere.
Anyway, it is still not all done. I know it is tougher to ‘keep things this way’ than it was to ‘bring it to this level’. And I am not even making any of those kinda promises to myself. For now, I am happy, really really happy. And I want to enjoy the moment, celebrate it. So all you guys reading this are welcome to go have a piece of chocolate to rejoice my accomplishment.
You see, it’s a Wednesday, so I can’t.