I threw on some workout clothes, got the boys settled outside playing, and then climbed on to the treadmill that we keep on our screened-in back porch.
Now before y’all go thinking that I lead some sort of dream life that allows me to exercise on occasion – hear this: About every 1/4 of a mile Happy Baby or Happy Buddy would have some kind of an emergency that required me to stop mid-run, turn the treadmill off, and help them with something. Important things like stopping to search for a toy microphone for 20 minutes because someone could absolutely not carry on without it. Or stopping to get everyone a snack. Or stopping to help someone out of a shoe they had put on that was 4 sizes to small.
Such is life with littles, yes? We can’t ever seem to complete a task without some kind of interruption. How easy my life will be in 20 years when I can go on the treadmill by myself! Of course, by then I will probably not be interested in going on a treadmill because my knees will have been replaced 6 times.
Anyway, after the 300th interruption I may or may not have shouted, “MOMMY’S GOING ON THE TREADMILL NOW AND I AM NOT GETTING OFF AGAIN FOR ANYTHING!”
Happy Buddy jogged back out to the yard where he was playing a football game with himself and Happy Baby was inside still looking for the elusive microphone.
I had made it a record 1/2 mile when I looked over to see Happy Baby push the sliding glass door separating the inside of our house from the patio closed.
Then I heard a little click.
Happy Baby had locked us out.
Did I mention that I had left my phone inside on the kitchen counter?
Happy Buddy was in hysterics almost instantly upon figuring out what had happened.
He is not dramatic at all.
And that’s when I realized that I would not be breaking a sweat that afternoon, but rather breaking into my house.
In my calmest voice I spoke through the glass to my 2 year old.
“Honey, we need you to open the door.”
“Sweetheart, push the lock up.”
“C’mon, that’s it! Push the lock UP! UP! UP!”
One would think that if he could lock it, then of course he could unlock it.
With every passing minute I rollercoastered back and forth between laughing about the situation, to wanting to cry, to feeling calm and collected, to about to have a panic attack.
Meanwhile Happy Baby was inside the house doing his best to follow my directions and encouragement, but when his efforts proved futile, would turn around and fall head first into the couch cushions in dispair. Then he would push himself up, start walking around the house (completely ignoring my pleas for help), and pick up random toys off the floor to play with.
At one point he even asked me if he could play with the iPad.
That’s when Happy Buddy began weeping and crying, “I’M NEVER GOING TO SLEEP IN MY BED AGAIN!”
We walked in this circle of emotions for about 25 minutes before I decided that the only thing left to do was go to our next door neighbor’s house and ask to borrow their phone to call my husband (who was at work 35 minutes away and who was about to start a rehearsal).
Did I mention that none of my workout pants were clean so I had grabbed a pair of hoochie mama pajama shorts to wear while I exercised because I figured that under no circumstances would anyone be seeing me that evening?? (Go HERE for my thoughts on modesty.)
So I pulled at my shorts until at least my booty cheeks weren’t showing and I embarrassingly headed over to the people who live next door.
When I got hold of a phone I called the hubs who informed that we had a spare key in a box attached to the outside wall (hope!), but when I went to find it, discovered that when we had our house painted over the summer, the painters had painted the box shut.
That’s when my neighbor’s husband arrived with some sort of crow bar thing that he was able to use to pull the door open and I almost fell over with relief.
(And in case you are a creeper thinking about robbing us, we have since retrieved the key and purchased a home security system. BAM.)
After all that I decided that I did not have the mental capacity to make an actual meal, so I made scrambled eggs and didn’t even bother to include a vegetable because I was done.
Once everyone was in bed and I was able to remember what my name was, I looked onto the patio where the unfinished workout stared at me and with a weary sigh decided that the whole event caused me so much stress that I probably burned enough calories to never need to exercise ever again for the rest of my life.
Why didn’t they warn us about these kind of events in What to Expect When Expecting?
I’m guessing because we would all choose the celibate life that includes uninterrupted treadmill time and hoochie mama shorts without dumps.
Nah, that sounds too boring.
– Julie 🙂