My husband is in the Air Force. I make fun of him (and them) a lot because when I was in the Army we had life a whole lot harder than they do. Had I done my homework however, I would have been wiser to join the Air Force, only because I would have appreciated the better treatment, nice leather sofas and 60" TVs that they all enjoy during their down time. And they've got a lot of down time, believe me. But all that griping is for a separate blog.
I've been interested as only recently my husband has been required to exercise. Yes, push-ups, sit-ups, and GASP! ...running for 1.5 miles. (Is 2 miles or more too much for you pansies?) Ahem. I'll try to keep this civil and non-judgmental.
Today little Michael (2) and I went to meet John to give him his shoes before PT. It was a nice day. So Michael wanted to get out and run around the track, which of course meant I'd have to accompany him since laws state that I have to stay glued to his side until he's 9 years old or something like that.
Fine. But I was a little embarrassed (it's not hard for me to feel embarrassed) because I was not dressed for such an activity. I had on a maternity blouse and sandals. I felt like a fat baby machine among all the other ladies who were getting ready to exercise.
I remember being one of those ladies. Especially from the point of view of seeing one of the mysterious spouses come out of hiding. Occasionally in the Army we'd have family social gatherings when we'd get to meet the spouses & families of our colleagues. Since the family life was the furthest thing from my mind and I could not comprehend what it meant to be married and have children, I harbored no judgments whatsoever. But I couldn't help notice the wives of my colleagues seemed to feel a bit left out...a bit sullen...just baby machines who were there for decoration and recipe-making, at best.
So that's how I felt today among all those Air Force people who are just learning how to exercise. (Oops, I meant to keep my AF prejudices out of this.) I felt left out, sullen, a mere baby machine. But hardly a decoration.
So I took Michael back to the car and we watched the kids run the track. It was interesting. The first lap 4 guys were obviously in some sort of competition. There were a few straggler guys, followed by a pack of 4 females unconcerned with speed, only endurance. By the second lap the first 4 guys found their individual paces and they became less concerned with "winning." By the third lap one of the females had broken away from the pack and was doing wind sprints. Yahoo!! That's my girl. She was now competing with the guy who had started out in first place. Yup, that's my girl.
But the other three ladies remained unconcerned with speed. They just wanted to stay alive. Eventually they walked.
I confess that as I watched them, my eyes welled up with tears. What have I become? A housewife with no motivation...Ever since we brought Michael home from the hospital nearly 3 years ago I have felt trapped. It's such a royal pain in the arse to go anywhere with a child that I'd just as soon give in to his every whim and let him rule my life. Especially newborns...after the hour it takes to prepare everything and everyone to leave the house, we're just about ready to walk out the door, the child is hungry again, or has soiled his diaper--again, or is screaming for goodness-knows-what-reason but we'd better stay home to get to the bottom of this because I sure don't want to be out with a screaming baby.
I was riding out my isolation with little MIchael, knowing that the end of isolation was near, since he's getting older now. But now that we're expecting another child...UGH! The entrapment will continue.
So I've decided that I refuse to live another 3 years of my life feeling trapped. At the very least we're going to break down and get a jogging stroller. I really miss running. It feels so goooooood.
And I never want to feel less than the women who my husband works with. I am better than them because I served in the Army. Hehe.
And I have a cuter butt than most of them do.
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