Working out, or hardly working?

I just checked Nathan into Child Watch at the YMCA, where he is happily playing with other tots whose yoga-pantsed, stainless-steel-water-bottle-carrying moms have dropped them off, too. It's that time of the morning, when the dads have gone off to work and the moms who stay at home with their children hit the Y to whip their post-baby bodies into shape.

With nothing on the calendar for this morning, I woke up with the idea to come here so that I wouldn't have to spend another day hanging around the house, trying to do laundry while Nathan follows me around, asking the same 3 questions over and over. ("What are we gonna have?" "Where are we gonna go to?" "What are we gonna do?") And after dropping all that cash on furniture last weekend, I figured I should lay low on the going-out front.

So, I put on some sweatpants and sneakers, made some tea for my travel mug, and headed to the gym. Well, not the gym, exactly. I never really intended to work out here this morning, but I figured I'd dress the part so I don't stand out. Instead of going into the Wellness Center and toning my ass on an elliptical, I sat my ass right down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in the corner of the lobby with my laptop. Free Wi-Fi! (Y-Fi?)

And here I sit, feeling equal parts guilty and smug. But mostly just happy to be sitting, quietly enjoying my tea. Hey, you've got to grab these moments however ... and wherever ... you can.