I’ve been feeling very funkilicious today (12 steps back sorta thing).

And I saw my son just sitting there playing games on his mobigo.

I was hit with major maternal guilt. So what did I do? Swallow my self-whatever (insert whatever description you want), and played with my son – despite the fact that I’m hating every part of moving my body.

We played horsey.

Don’t worry – I was the horsey. Don’t know why, but I thought I should say that.

Very slowly but surely, the thought dawned on me. I am no longer the 27 year old thinner self I used to be.

About the seventh time I worked my way around the room, this horsey fell to the ground in a heap of exhaustion. My son, pouncing on my back screaming giddy-up – renewed my strength.

Yes my ninjas – I went again.

For one more round. Then my hip said: “are you freaking kidding me?” My bad knee said: “she really is crazy”

And here I am. Laying down; High on pain killers, slightly depressed; thinking this post is hysterical.

Now where’s my mother of the freaking year award?

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