Love Is Like Oxygen (and a good work out...you can’t lift a 2-year-old with it)
I cannot for the life of me get the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse "Hot Dog Song" out of my head. So in honor of Claire (and to share the “love”), here’s the song I’ve heard at least 100 times in the last 36 hours.
I officially took two days “off” from exercise, but my muscles want an official ruling on the meaning of “off.” They seem to think that “life” constitutes exercise. A few years ago I would have begged to differ because I was convinced that what we do in real life isn’t exercise, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t lift babies every day.
Grandbaby Luca now weighs 13 pounds. Claire is almost 30. I took care of them yesterday morning while their mom went to a meeting, then Claire came home with me and spent the night.
Luca, Claire and I had a three-hour sleep/play/run-around-like-crazy/drooly (that would be Luca) morning. Luca likes to be held high up on your shoulder so his head is even with your ears. Do that for a half hour while walking around and building a “fort” with a 2-year-old and you’ve got yourself a workout. I don’t normally sweat when I watch the kids, but yesterday they put me through my paces (in a good way).
When Claire was born almost two year ago, my arthritic wrists and torn rotator cuffs were so sore I had a hard time holding her. I often worried I’d drop her. My “only” option, according to the surgeon, was surgery. But I said no and opted for exercise instead. I’ve “buffed up” my upper arms and back, so to speak, and have strengthened the muscles around my wrists and forearms so I can hold Luca like a champ and take Claire where we need to go. (Note: This does not mean that surgery isn’t still an option, just not yet.)
When Claire comes to visit, we go places. Lots of places – the library and Wal-Mart because I have business there, and the hair salon, coffee shop and post office just so I can show her off. This means Claire needs to be lifted a lot – in and out of her car seat and then the cart at the grocery store, not to mention lifting her on to and out of her chair at the table for meals, helping her up on to the couch, and the always present “uppie peeez” (translated: pick me up, please) that I can’t resist. Lifting 30 pounds dozens of times in the course of 36 hours makes my muscles say “WTF?”, no matter how hard I work out. But the fact that I can do it each time without thinking twice makes me happier than anything I put in my mouth or any excuse I might use to not exercise.
I stay healthy for me – sure, yeah, whatever – but really I do it for my grandkids.
I know this isn’t the first time I’ve said that, and perhaps ya’ll are getting tired of hearing it, but seriously, every time I’m with them I am more convinced that what I’m doing to stay healthy is the right thing for me to do. I’ve never felt so sure of anything.
Dedication and commitment are key to diet and fitness. No doubt. But so is love. Have you ever told someone: “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?” I’ve said it many times, but I never meant that I’d get or stay fit. Until recently. Now when I say “I’d do anything for you,” it includes staying as healthy as my body will let me. There’s no turning back.
I love me. How often do you say you love yourself? There’s nothing wrong with it. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. I used to think it did, and so not loving myself caused me to do a lot of dumbass things.
I love myself AND I love Claire and Luca a whole bunch, and because I do, I lift weights and take my blood pressure meds, and eat right, and get my ass on the elliptical/bike/treadmill – day after day after day.
OK, the “Hot Dog Song” is STILL going through my head, but unlike a really bad “juke box from hell” 70s song that gets lodged in my head, it makes me miss Claire. She really REALLY likes that song. It makes her smile soooo big and dance and concentrate on playing her little bongo drum. How can I not love that more than I not love “Hot Diggity Dog”?
I have to take Claire to Disney World now just to thank that damn mouse for making her so happy.
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