Why I don’t go to the gym

Decided I needed to get to the gym in the morning for a 7.30am class. Wake up at 6.30am. Sneak around Henry to get dressed. Pack nappy bag. Pick clothes for Henry in the dark and hope he won’t look homeless. 6.45am pump milk. 7.05 am Henry wakes up but I’m still attached to the pump. Call my neighbour over to retrieve Henry from his cot. 7.10am trip over the pump cord and lose 20mls of breast milk to the carpet which is the equivalent of losing a small piece of your big toe. 7.20am running late as usual. Put Henry in the carseat in his pyjamas (potentially a better option than the homeless mix and match outfit anyway) and keep bottle warm between my legs while driving to the gym. Arrive at 7.35am set up Henry in the pram with 57 toys and 34 blankets and realise I’m still wearing ugg boots. So there I am feeding Henry in between deadlift sets getting a bunion from the pair of Nike free runs I found in my car which were my pre-pregnancy shoe size, and that’s when I decided the gym might have to wait a while.

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