Twinkle walked in on me doing squats in my underwear while watching Medium last night. Her look of confused wonder only increased when I told her that sometimes a mom just needs to break a sweat. I moved into my next exercise, turbo kicks with opposing punches, as she asked me why I was doing it in my underwear instead of my yoga pants. Sometimes you want the freedom to kick the universe in your underpants, and you just can’t do that in public.
Our family has isolated itself since Twinkle’s surgery on the 14th to prevent the germs of the universe from interfering with her fragile immune system. We’ve played hundreds of rounds of card games, painted pictures, rocks and bird houses. We built amazing things out of empty boxes and overturned our tables and chairs to create new worlds previously unexplored. Sometimes, though, when the babes go to bed, the husband leaves for a beer and I am left to my own devices I just want to watch predictable TV while sweating away the anxiety created from forced isolation.