If you know me, you’re probably aware that Francesca & Sports don’t necessarily go together.

And even if you don’t know me, you can probably tell from a mile off that back in the day, I was the one who skulked at the sidelines of the lacrosse pitch or the netball court or the rounders field while my sportier counterparts made strides. Let me put it this way: Even though I did make the house swimming team (bless you, LAC) and even though I can catch a ball with fair accuracy, sport just isn’t my thing.

I tried to explain this to the Strollercize trainer. Really I did. But she was having none of it. “Honey, this class is about being a fit mom. It has nothing to do with sporty/not sporty.”

Strollercize? Yes, indeed! It’s an outdoor exercise class for Manhattan’s Type A / uber-energetic mommies who feel who feel the need to do back-breaking sit-ups and plant their “tushies” on ice-o-cold stone steps to tone away their baby rolls. And there’s also running. Lots. And galloping and skipping. And all the while we’re pushing the strollers. Soothing for babies, as you can imagine. In fact, August never smiles and sleeps as well as when I’m lugging my beastly body up a hill to the marching orders of trainer, Lizzie.

“Mom on a mission; march!” “Enemy Territory; get down low! “U-turn to the left and wheel back” Grunt…grunt…grunt…

So the fact that I make it out to these boot camps at all is itself impressive and while that may separate me from the other really lazy Manhattan mommies who don’t do any exercise at all, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m forever the laggard at the tail end of the line as we skip, swish and sway our booties through Central Park, lumbering to keep up with the others who are svelte runners and more.

As I said, Francesca & Sports…

Some things never change.

Tags: Exercise, Health

We all have our talents. Some of us are good at mathematics, others are better at sports. Frankly, it’s what makes the world an interesting place and keeps things competitive.

And August, like other 11-week-old youngsters has his talents too. He is very good at greedily drinking milk. He has good focus and can pay attention to small things. He can also cry with the best of them, producing a shriek so shrill it burrows deep into mummy’s ear canals and propels her out of bed with a single leap. (I’d say that denotes a good ability to read and manipulate people.)

But there are some things our perfect boy is not so good at. Namely, tummy time.

I know, I know, you’re thinking all parents complain about tummy time because all babies protest it.

But August doesn’t.

On the contrary, he slips merrily into tummy time and willingly lays on his stomach for required 10 minutes. I used to think this was just another expression of August’s good humor. Now I realize it’s less about how obliging he is and more about the fact that he’s not doing anything at all. He just lays there and licks the sheets. It’s an exercise in sheer laziness.

Yesterday the pediatrician asked about his tummy time flipping him stomach-down. And as usual he just lay there and licked the paper. Brilliant, August.

“He doesn’t, you know, raise his head or prop himself up on his arms or elbows?” she asked.

Nope.

Wow, our son sure is clever to trick him mum into thinking he was doing it right. See, top of the class again!

Tags: Exercise