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I really thought I was past the “Mom” guilt with this baby… you know, taking time for myself without feeling guilty, handing her to my husband with a bottle and pacifier while I go take a nap, etc. But there’s been a nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me something entirely different but disguised as the same Mom guilt.

I’m too tired to go workout.
It’s been a long time, I’m going to be sore for a few days.
Oh, I can’t do that yet.

I’m not mentally ready to get back to the studio, but I know working out will help with that. So why am I making all these excuses? What am I afraid of? My barre classes are all paid for so money isn’t an issue. My carefully curated LuLaRoe wardrobe isn’t fitting as well as I hoped it would postpartum. Shouldn’t that be motivation enough to start doing something? You would think… I know it all falls back to the oxygen mask analogy and that I can’t always spend my coveted out-of-the-house time grabbing bread and boba or ice cream.

It’s fear of success. Fear of leaving the new comfort zone I’ve established with the baby for the past month and a half. Guilt for doing something for me instead of trying to put away all the laundry, or getting the house ready for the carpet cleaners, or tidying around the studio for that moment I am ready to truly get back to work. Guilt that’s stupid because I know there are more important things than putting away all the laundry. That’s never been my priority in life, before or after kids.

I signed up for a barre class. I set an alarm for an hour before. No more excuses. Let’s do this.

The next morning:  Burning muscles in that “I feel alive” kind of way.  The best kind of sore.  No regrets, but I may need some Advil later…

Of course, I had to reference this scene