Yesterday was my bi-monthly gym visit since I started Morning Tea Leave.
The baking, coffees and Nigella inspired meals in my attempt to knock Martha Stewart off her smug perch are taking their toll. Next year's Biggest Loser will be a world first. It'll take all three trainers to focus on one person who gives the Ghostbusters dough boy a binge eating for its money.
The last three times Mini Me was in the crèche were tolerable. Yes there were tears, mostly from me as I looked at the scales, but the upside was Mini Me passed out before the car door opened and would sleep. It is the only activity that has actually tired her out. Why didn't I do this more as I spent many a day bouncing on the gym ball to get her to sleep? Every time she came away with a cold. And reread sentence one... Bimonthly visit.
New year, new me and off we wobbled.
It was the most satisfying 15-minutes of my life.
Like the Emperior Penguins that can hear their specific mate's cry while hundreds of penguins rave away (I always imagined these reunions like a huge festival - everyone hugging, singing and a little intoxicated), a mother can hear their child's distinctive cry.
Over the noise of the upbeat doof-doof bass music, the sparring of Mr Muscles, the panting of the running young thing next to me and the wheeziness of my own lungs as I leisurely surfed Facebook on the exercise bike I could hear Mini Me's shouts.
She was hysterical. The kind of crying that includes tears, blotchiness and gasping. She is not an attractive cryer. As I walked in she practically threw herself off the carer, into my arms and sobbed quietly into my armpit.
Part of me was distressed by her tears. A tiny, one heartbeat part of me.
The rest of me had an overwhelming urge to shout 'Yipee... Take that world, she actually likes and wants me'. I was ecstatic by her tears. It was like getting an A in the project I call being a mum.
Reading that back, it sounds mean and a little crazy. But I'm not, and clearly haven't, changed that.
You see Mini Me is an apt nickname for my little miss. She's very independent, preferring to play on her own than have me show her how the toy works. She's not affectionate, preferring to push me away than let me kiss her.
Until that moment I was convinced the dog and laundry drain were all she needed as babysitters, thus was the level of disdain I felt she had for me.
At eight months, separation anxiety has set in. Do you know what that means? It means she is upset I leave her! Yes it means clinginess and I have a friend in the toilet who talks to me as I go (wow that brings me back to uni days). But it means she feel comforted by me and therefore loves me.
I know it is a phase all bubs go through, so I shouldn't feel special. I know lots of mums scream 'bub just wouldn't leave me alone and I had so much to do'. Thankfully we're not at that stage. But to those mum's I say, 'Let's be honest. You love it.' And if you don't, make the most of it. Because when they are smelly teenagers wanting their mums will be the last thing on the list. Tests, dentists and even getting a job would well and truly preceed wanting their mums.
Until then, this smug mum will walk away from the gym crèche with a crying baby and say 'well played Mini Me'.
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