F makes me feel horrendously unfit. Already, her podgy baby arms and legs are becoming lean and muscular. When she's not asleep, she's always doing crunches, sit-ups, squats and press-ups to better herself. In fact she's recently started including the weight of her high chair to press-ups, pushing herself and it away from the table over and over.
In contrast, I have done no dedicated exercise in the last eight months.
Picking her up and down might count for a bit, I suppose. Because she's always gaining weight, she's always slightly too heavy for me. This is excellent training, I suppose. Keep increasing what you benchpress, that's the way forward, isn't it? If I keep it up, by the time she's thirty five or so I'll look like a young Schwarzenegger. Except I'll be seventy. And still a better actor, even if I'm demented by then.
We walk a lot too, that's healthy. We bought a new baby bjorn, so I can keep carrying her until she's three or so. They're great things - they take all the stress of carrying baby out of your arms and shoulders and concentrate it handily in your lower back instead. F gets tired and shouty after about three-quarters of an hour in it. It takes me about three hours to massage the knots out of my sacrum after that.
She enjoys it, though, she likes being able to see out and grab things, and her patience for being sat in the pram is swiftly decreasing. Not that she has much patience. After the baby group, she's started trying to crawl a bit more. She knows there's something to it, she can see the point. Like the spoon feeding (latest development - use of a loaded spoon as a comb), she can't quite see how to achieve it yet. She's just really really angry that lying on her face and flailing isn't the right answer, although not quite angry enough to call it a day on that particular tactic.
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