My Daughter, the Personal Trainer Part Two

Reagan recognizes that it takes both diet and exercise to really peel away the excess pounds. That's why my thoughtful personal trainer works my flabby behind every day.

From day one, Reagan has preferred me to all others which at first I thought was because of my infectious personality and the fact that I nearly always have Cheerios on my person. However, as time passes, I realize she makes me haul her around as part of my weight training regimen. She also insists on tossing whatever she's carrying to the ground at random intervals to challenge my agility and grace. There's a method to her madness. For instance, Reagan doesn't "accidentally" drop her sippy cup except when both of my hands are entirely full of other things and/or we're in a desperate hurry to get out the door. If she tossed it down when I've got nothing but time and empty hands, then I wouldn't get the same kind of workout. My body would be mush, that's what. Reagan's dedication to my health astounds everyone we meet.

Reagan knows that a strong back is key for overall core strength. Every, single bloomin' day Reagan tackles the stairs on our way up from the basement. She chooses to crawl up three or four steps and then turn around to slide down on her bottom. I hunch over, trying to save her from certain death and thus, my back receives a thorough workout. When Reagan arrives at the base of the stairs, we start the routine over again because all personal trainers know that number of reps is key to building strong muscles.

It takes a village to keep Mom skinny. Reagan relies on my morning visits to our wellness center to take care of my body, as well. Last week, I woke up before my alarm and thought I was up, ready to throw myself into the car and head for the gym. I turned off the alarm so as not to disturb my beloved and my whip-wielding daughter. My brain said get up. However, my body had other ideas and within moments, I'd drifted back to sleep. At 5:31 am, Reagan let out a heart attack-inducing scream. I sat straight up in bed, realized I was about to miss class and jetted from the house. Danny told me later that when he went in to check on Reagan, she was already back to sleep. See? Even when she's unconscious, she works to keep me moving and grooving. What a giver.

Variety keeps training interesting so Reagan continually mixes up our time together by tossing in cries for swirling, singing, dancing, bouncing and tossing whenever she sees me start to relax. If my body slows down at all, Reagan senses my regression and springs into action. Right now she's taking a nap and I'm about to, as well. This is an unapproved sleep and must be approached carefully. My strategy is simple. I take off my shoes and tip toe across the hall into our bedroom. I know right where the squeaky springs are in the bed so I ease onto the comforter very carefully, without disturbing the cat or the mattress. I lay on my back so as to preserve my hairstyle and I sleep in my glasses. This way if Reagan suspects my rebellious rest, I can fool her by being right at her side the instant she cries. When she glances over me, looking for signs of slumber, I'll fool her.

This is how I'm surviving Mommyhood, one stolen nap at a time. Also, today I ate what was left of the ice cream straight from the container. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.