Crunch Time

F is starting to sit up.

When she lies in her little bouncy sling chair, she instantly starts trying to do unsupported Pilates-style stomach crunch things. Then she holds them, peering round the room with her brow furrowed in effort. She balls her fists up and clutches for support in her own armpits. It looks like she's parachuting. It's very impressive

It made me think - it's been a while since I did much exercise. Maybe I should take inspiration from my daughter, and start doing a few crunches of my own. So I thought I'd exercise along with her. When I'm in the routine of it, I do a bit of mixed yoga and Pilates of a day. I'm quite proud of my headstands. But it's been a few months since I was in that routine.

This became instantly and depressingly obvious when I failed to keep up with more than three of F's reps. I am officially less fit than a four-month-old baby. In the limited field of stomach muscles, at least. And I was doing full Pilates crunches, not her version. And come on, I can't be that out of shape. Out of the two of us, who can stand up longer? Go on, F, I challenge you to a standing up contest. Then we'll see.

But the very fact I need to start defensively qualifying this defeat speaks volumes. Now that she generally sleeps most of the night (regularly getting six or seven hour blocks in) and I have a little more energy back, I have some self-improvement to get on with. Not least because I'm doing stage fighting again. Nothing worse than a piece of dramatic combat where the tension comes from wondering if the combatant's heart is about to give out.

More on this soon - today has been rather fraught, as V and I tried to spring clean the flat. F decided we weren't paying her enough attention, focussing instead on mundane chores, and had a full-on screaming tantrum when nobody picked her up on demand. She's been testing us since, checking that it was a one-off lapse that doesn't need further action on her part to correct.

I've seen her corrective action. She has an arch over her sling chair, from which hang various stuffed toys. The middle one, a Simpsons Yellow chap with a red nose and terrible haircut, responds to gentle tapping by playing a tune. F hasn't quite mastered this gentle tapping, she's often a bit too gentle. But she knows something is supposed to happen when she bats him around, and she gets very very angry very quickly if her efforts are unrewarded.

She found something that works the other day though. If she holds him by both arms and knees him hard in the crotch, he plays the tune. I don't know what kind of lessons these toys are teaching her, but I fear them nevertheless.