It is almost five months since The Baby arrived and time to reach into the back of the cupboard for my favourite pair of jeans. It soon becomes obvious that they are not going to slide on easily. I lie on the floor, hold my tummy in and edge the zip up. The three-year-old walks in and stares at me wrestling with the pair of denims on the floor. “What are you doing Mummy? Have you got a tummy ache?” he asks. “Not yet,” I reply.
Ten minutes later and the jeans are ‘uncomfortably’ on. I congratulate my postnatal tummy. Then I discover that my once faithful jeans will not allow me to sit down. I cast my mind back to the regular grazing I have been relishing in over the past few months and the hoovering up of children’s leftover pasta and half eaten Petit Filous. I then recall a friend telling me about a weekly Boxercise class she runs in the village school hall. She raved about the benefits of boxing telling me that it burns calories at an impressive rate. This was what I needed – a quick fix to combat the jeans.
That evening I squeeze into my joggers and find the baggiest most shapeless t-shirt I can lay my hands on. The Boys are thrilled at the thought of their mother going to a boxing class and offer me their Light Sabre as extra back-up against my boxing opponent.
I arrive to find the hall full of jolly ladies of all different ages who certainly look far from aggressive. I am warmly welcomed but feel nervous about what is in store for me. I must be on my guard and anxiously await the first left hook from my opponent. To my surprise I enjoy every minute of it. I am soon exerting all the stresses of the day’s school runs and packed lunches in flying kicks and punches. I leave the class thrilled and exhilarated. The battle of the jeans has begun. Ninja Mum here we come.
