I download Fitness Blender. GO ME.
I pass the baby off to the biggest child, and declare to all, "I am going to go exercise. Watch TV and don't bug me!"
They all agree with varying levels of enthusiasm.
I head upstairs and realize, oh. First, Ima need some support. It's been a month or more since I exercised. I had been treadmilling, but then got pneumonia, and then I was lazy. Digging through drawers and laundry baskets was necessary to find the proper clothing *aka, sports bra*.
Ok, so five minutes have passed since I declared I was "GOING TO GO EXERCISE."
At this point, three children have already come upstairs to goggle.
"Are you going on your treadmill?"
"Are you going to wear your pajamas?"
"What kind of exercise?"
I answered each of them with the compassion and love any angel mother would, "No, go away, I'm going to exercise!"
Finally, I pulled out the big guns and LOCKED MY DOOR.
All right, so this cute little thin, super fit lady is on my phone screen. I briefly debated downloading the app to my iPad, but ultimately decided not to take the time to go down the rabbit hole of forgotten passwords, and the app store.
Anyway back to the tiny woman on my tiny phone screen. I hit play and we GET TO WERK.
Thirty second later, I'm kinda sweaty and there is a gentle, but constant tapping on my door.
"ARG! WHAT?" I snap pausing the workout and angrily unlocking my door.
"Um," says a contrite Spencer. "Henry was wondering if he could have your computer." Ah, the eldest, in all his wisdom sent his brother into the beast's lair.
"No! He is supposed to be keeping Beatrice happy. Go watch TV. I'm TRYING TO EXERCISE!"
Snap goes the door. Click goes the lock.
I hit play again, and the little woman continues bouncing and doing all the things. I do them with her, grateful that the HIIT aspect means that like every 30 seconds I get a "break" meaning I can walk in place instead of jumping about. Walking is good.
Two minutes pass, and a hysterical Freddy is at my door. I don't even ask, I just unlock the door and he sobs his way to my bed, where he stops crying and watches me with fascination.
Three minutes later, the tiny woman on my tiny screen on my tiny phone goes, "PHEW! You know it's going to be a good workout when the WARM UP is making me winded."
THIS IS JUST THE WARM UP?
Oh no. No. H-E-C-K (I'm trying to be good and not swear) NO.
I am going to DIE, and this is just the WARM UP.
DOES SHE NOT KNOW THAT I AM DYING? CAN SHE NOT SEE THAT I HAVE SEVEN CHILDREN WHO ALL BUG ME CONSTANTLY?
I AM TRYING TO EXERCISE!
WARM UP BE DARNED! (See, I'm being good!)
So, I fast-forward her skinny butt until I get to the REAL DEAL.
The REAL DEAL was MORE jumping, lunging, squatting, kicking, side-steping, cycle crunches and I don't even know what else.
Ezra comes crying to me, "OLIVER STOLE THE NERF DART AND..."
"NO!" I cry, after angrily pausing my super awesome workout AGAIN!
(It must be sidenoted that we have MANY Nerf guns and exactly ONE dart. You can imagine how well this works.)
"GO WATCH TV! I'M TRYING TO EXERCISE!"
He begrudgingly complies. Well, he went away, so who knows what happened after that?
Back at it. We're doing some sort of hop-step thing now. The girl in charge on my phone is like, totally out of breath. I quit breathing entirely, I'm pretty sure.
At some point in my haze, Miriam came upstairs screaming and crying because SOMEONE hit some part of her body.
"NO!" I cry, not bothering to pause Miss Skinny Workout girl. It's ride or die time people. RIDE or DIE.
"Just lay in my bed Miriam. I am TRYING TO EXERCISE."
She demurely complies and proceeds to watch me shuffle around like a dying T-Rex, trying to reach her toes. THEY ARE SO FAR AWAY.
Finally, my enthusiasm has waned, and I can't even pretend. I've gone from the "high impact" to the "low-impact modifications" that Miss Workout Queen has suggested to just straight up trudging in place. Ya'll I can't even call it walking in place. I was sort of sliding my feet from one spot to another.
EVERY child of mine has come complaining at some point.
I can hear Beatrice hollering in protest. I'm done. I'm beat, I'm spent.
Surely, I have burned ALL THE CALORIES. My six-pack is well underway. I am AMAZING.
I HAVE EXERCISED.
I pause little Miss Tiny Tushie, and see the truth. Subtracting the WARM-UP *curse you warm up* that I skipped, I have managed to work out for twelve minutes.
Which is two more than I was expecting.
Until tomorrow Miss Tiny Arms. Until tomorrow.