It’s happened. The toddler has finally gained enough balance to make running possible.
And now running is all he ever does or wants to do.
The title of this post alludes to exorcism, but if he keeps this up it’s more likely I’m gonna need my last rites.
As I mentioned last week, I’ve been playing the part of a Stay-at-home dad for the past few months, and as my son has crossed the threshold from wobbly baby to whirling dervish, the amount of energy needed to keep up with him has increased exponentially.
I am in decent shape. Despite what the stupid, insulting Wii Fit says, I refuse to believe my BMI is that high. I exercise a few times a week and only eat two meals a day. Granted, one of those meals is in beer form but you’re not my sponsor, Nintendo!
Now that running has entered the equation, I’m pretty confident I can handle a full 12-pack without any noticeable weight gain. Which would be great, if it weren’t so damn exhausting.
It’s hard enough monitoring an only slightly mobile toddler; they can’t be trusted to do anything independently, so even a trip to a rubber-floored playground is an exercise in vigilance. Now that he can run a stretch without falling on his face every two seconds? Yikes. And I thought I needed a leash for him before!
Yesterday he spent 30 minutes running laps through his grandparents backyard. At first it was great. I was having fun, he was laughing his head off, and a little bit of exertion is just what he needs to make bedtime a smooth and easy transition. Fifteen laps in and I’m wheezing as he drags my up a hill screaming “moh wunnin! moh wunnin!” in my face like Lou Gosset Jr. in An Officer and a Gentleman.
Exercise is necessary, especially when you get to my age and you just can’t help yourself from ordering a 64-ounce Mountain Dew with your seven Big Macs. Not even Mayor Bloomberg will be able to protect me when I move out of New York!
With today’s obesity and the increasingly sedentary world they’re growing up in, exercise is even more important for kids. Just ask Michelle Obama.
I recently griped about my son’s picky eating habits. Getting him to eat is often a struggle, but at the same time, sometimes he eats a lot, and sometimes he doesn’t eat the healthiest stuff in the world. Yet, after witnessing his superhuman toddler endurance, it boggles the mind that there are kids that are under ten years old and over two hundred pounds.
Are parents out there force-feeding their kids Chee-tos? (Judging by the fact that we saw a parent filling his toddler’s bottle with soda, I’d have to guess “yes.”) They’ve got energy to burn, and they love burning it. Yeah, my kid likes to watch TV once in a while, but even without us limiting his intake he’d still prefer to go outside and race his parents into a heart attack.
All my son wants to do is break a sweat, whether by dancing or sprinting back and forth or throwing ungodly tantrums on the floor of the living room.
He’s like the human equivalent of broccoli – I’m pretty sure he burns more calories than he takes in.
I’m bitching, yes, but the truth is I love playing with my son, and it’s a lot more fun for me to get my exercise with him than it is running on a treadmill staring at Stephen A. Smith. Lately I have been carrying him in my arms and running around to simulate flying like Superman.
I just hope I don’t end up collapsing in my driveway like Glenn Ford.