It doesn't get any easier...

Last Thursday, I was living it up, eating Cheesecake Factory Kahlua-tastes-so-awesome-that-I-can't-remember-the-name-cheesecake for 90% off and catching up with a friend. Recently she's been more deliberate about losing weight, and I briefly described the difficulties/excuses I've had with exercising regularly -- the irony of eating chessecake and discussing exercise! But she said those words...."You know, it doesn't get any easier." Yeah, I know that, but I don't really want to believe it!

Before I was married, I would go to the gym 3-4 times a week, and I enjoyed exercise and the way I felt during and after exercise. During my first two years of marriage, and even though my entire pregnancy, I was still at the gym 2-3 times a week, still proud of my accomplishments, though not too grand. After my daughter was born, I was at the gym 1-2 times a month (on a good month), and I'm not satisfied with that.

Finding time and wondering how my baby girl will do in the childcare is tough for me. I make all sorts of excuses about where I'd like to go for the day, and often the gym is neglected. But those excuses come after wondering 1. how will my daughter do in childcare and 2. how will the employees of the gym react to her. But I think she's been making progress as she's gotten older. . . now that she's one.

So last night, I decided that I WILL go to the gym 2-3 times a week, even if every single time I hear my name, followed by "Go to childcare," echo through the gym and hope no one notices that I'm sheepishly going to get my crying child.