Tag Archives: exercise

Ring, Ring! It’s Your Baptism!

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When Vivien was a little I had heard about Stroller Strides. A group of gals, led by a mom teacher, who workout together in public places as they push their kids in their strollers. It’s an inexpensive exercise class and one of the few ways you can workout without hiring a baby sitter. Being a new mom everything seemed so tough to do at first.  I did eventually go and got something out of it but, didn’t know if it was quite my people.

With Rex I didn’t care if I was throwing off our precious schedule. I needed to move this body. So, I started back with the striders. The same nice gal is running the group and fortunately this time I feel like I connect with the moms better. In the beginning of the year I wasn’t working much I went a lot.. now, not as much.

Anyway, one day the moms were talking between dips and singing “Wheels on the Bus” while we worked on our triceps, and that is what led to this vid.

Post-Pregnancy Weight Loss

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Argh, I know! It’s only been 7 weeks, but I’m feeling impatient to not have what looks like a small butt on my lower belly. I know it took 6 months to lose weight with Viv, but I’m worried. And it doesn’t help that I have recently done a red-carpet event staring up close at Anne Hathaway, Nicky Hilton, and the like, and that I just did a shoot with Kim Kardashian (she is selling shoes now at Shoedazzle.com). I feel big and old.

[Sidebar: you can be thin, pretty, and rich, but the humor and charisma meter pin won't budge. The worst offender recently was Nicky Hilton. Honey, don't act all shy and meek; you are at a public event for Pete's sake.]

But I digress. I started trying to do a decent walk everyday. And some mornings I say I will go to an exercise class, but by the time I feed Viv and nurse Rex, class has begun, and I stay seated in my milk-soaked gown. Maybe I’ll just play a lot of hide and seek with Viv.

Madonna Arms

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I know it’s tawdry, but I do a have a passing interest in this Madonna divorce. What really caught my eye was a piece that said her super fitness was getting in the way of the marriage. I’ve long said I’ve wanted “Madonna arms” (Note the place they are in now: not saggy, but not Queen of Pop).

Daphne Brogdon flexing

She is 50 and has defied gravity and womanhood to prevent the arm flaps that start to appear in the late 30s (earlier if there is a weight issue). Well, now the truth the comes out: she gets perfect arms ’cause she works out FOUR HOURS A DAY. And she banned sugar and dairy from her home.  

Now, if I was performing in a corset in front of millions, I’d probably do the same thing, but having part of my body on basic cable doesn’t quite warrant such drastic measures. If I consistently worked out an hour a day and put half and half in my coffee, I think I’d be happy with the results.

But the ol’ “don’t envy people” is easy to find here. I do envy her arms, but her hubby allegedly saying the workouts got in the way of their life together is a big bummer. Or that he wanted to cuddle with more flesh.

Trolling For Mom Friends

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Along with the miracle and wonder of children comes BOREDOM. Especially while they are nonverbal. Gosh, the pattern of your life can start to melt from one day to the next. So, that’s when I started to cast about for any kind of groups or classes. At 2 months we did Itsy Bitsy Yoga; basically a few socially starved moms were led through gentle exercises with their baby. We would roll our kids around, kiss their tummy, and do other stuff like that.The gym was walking distance from my house, which was a real bonus since my kid screamed her head off every time she was in the car. This did not end until we could turn her seat around.

Here I am at a My Gym, talking about this lonely mom thing.

Pregnancy Brain

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I am transitioning! That’s right, it’s time to go from master of my own body – from wearing cute clothes, from the ease of a three-year-old I can leave in a room by herself for a while – to that final cross-over into the pregnancy world! I find myself wondering why I am so out of breath on the treadmill and remember, oh, yeah, I’m pregnant. Suddenly, Curves has become a bit of a workout.

Even Fun Makes Me Tired

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Here is Vivien in a dress that hasn’t been worn since the ’60s, as we were walking to dinner in Chelsea last Friday night. My brother-in-law Mark’s sister was in some kiddie beauty pageants and would get dresses as prizes. One dress was presented to her by none other than the girl who played Buffy on “Family Affair.”

Vivien in NYC

When I go to NYC, I always love it. The excitement, the energy… to a point. I have about 6 or 8 friends I really like to see out there, so even trying to see a few of them takes up some time and it’s stimulating catching up. Plus, I am often doing press for whatever TV show I’m on at the time–which is fun. This trip, most of my press calls were for Cool Mom. Also, I usually do a 48-hour child-free trip… yeah, I’m free and not gone so long I feel guilty.

This trip, I had 36 hours solo and then Mark and Vivien arrived. By the third night, I started to slow down. Mark went bar hopping with friends as Vivien and I met up with a friend at a nice restaurant, walking distance from where we were staying. (Sidebar: instead of a crazy-expensive hotel room we were lucky to be in a two bedroom apartment in Chelsea of friends who were out of town. The best.)

As we walked to dinner, Vivien said, “Mommy,” pointing to the sidewalk, “This is dirty.” I’m sure she was wondering, “When is the clean-up time?”

Um, that was Giuliani, I guess, and he only got so much done. I still saw not one but two gentlemen brazenly peeing on the street. And mind you, not homeless guys with shopping carts, but people who probably had an option.

Sadly, I figured out why I am still dragging even now that we have been back home for a bit. 1) I’m not a spring chicken and 2) I have to exercise. It does help my energy level. But if I don’t do it before 9 am, forget it. I like the recreational exercise of being home, not that constant walking-in-shoes-that-hurt NYC thing. It makes me so tired.