Having children means making sacrifices. That’s what the manual said, and I always read the manual before I do anything. This one was conveniently titled Children: Making Sacrifices, and it went on at length about how when you have a baby, suddenly your life is not your own and all your efforts have to be geared towards raising this thing you have created, on the basis that you have created it. I’ve made that bed, and I’m going to lie in it.
I just…can’t stand another round of ‘Mum exercise’. It’s slowly but steadily killing me, and I try to tell Mark but he doesn’t understand because he goes to the gym and he thinks it’s basically that, with friends. So far as I know it started off with some lady in an indoor play centre in…I want to say Sydney? Somewhere like that, but anyway, she started an exercise group in the play centre and got all the mothers involved. Some dads too, I suppose. Now the trend has reached the indoor play centres in Perth, and it’s BIG. Not that we don’t get enough exercise as parents, but all the mothers I know have jumped on the bandwagon. Instead of sitting in the cafe, watching the children tire themselves out and drinking coffee, we now have to clear away the tables and do star jumps and such. And I loved the idea at first, don’t get me wrong. Haven’t had much time to go for a job since Amelie was born, and in the last few years I’ve never got back into the habit. Finding the indoor play centre was great, and this exercise group was even better.
But now? There’s SO much pressure. They say it’s optional, but you can’t just sit there sipping a brew while everyone else is working hard. The guilt is just too much, especially when they start doing the press-ups and they’re all ‘huargh!’ and ‘bwooh!’ and ‘COME ON GIRLS, JUST ONE MORE, FEEL THE BURN!’ (that’s Cassie…I don’t like Cassie).
I need to find somewhere else, maybe. A kids birthday party venue in Perth where the madness has not yet arrived. At this point, I wouldn’t even mind travelling; beats walking out of the place exhausted.