Easy 31-Day Workout Schedule

I’m 8 months postpartum, and bathing suit season is fast approaching. I HATE working out, I hate being sore, I hate being tired, and I hate sacrificing time to make it happen. But, I also don’t like looking like a toothpick with no muscle tone, so I had to come to terms with the fact that if I want to look different, I have to do something about it.

My goal is to work out every day in March. I know in general that doing strenuous workouts without a rest day every few days isn’t good for you, but I also know how I am, and in order for this to become a habit for me, I have to do SOMETHING every day. I’m titling this “Let’s March,” because in addition to liking positive life changes, I also LOVE a good pun.

Our first birth experience was a long, natural, hospital delivery of our rainbow baby, Claire. It was amazing, hard, and beautiful. Before becoming pregnant with Claire, we suffered a miscarriage at 10 weeks. I was devastated by that experience, so when we got pregnant again, I was grateful but extremely anxious. All pregnancy loss is sad, but there’s something especially tragic about losing your first because it forever taints your experience. When your only frame of reference up to that point is a loss, even a healthy pregnancy has an extra layer of fear and anxiety.

Three years later, I can still remember the most vivid details of this eventful day. Things like what songs I sang, what I ate for dinner, and where we parked at the hospital.

The other night I had dinner with the sweetest couple whose son was stillborn in August. Their desire to show compassion to others, their new outlook on life in spite of their grief, and their growing love for each other were inspiring. My heart was heavy, yet full. I cried when I stood in his nursery, complete but never used for its intended purpose.

They are living my nightmare, yet they are more than surviving. They are healing, at their exact right pace, and they are doing it with grace. I intended to bless them with a meal and friendship, and in their tragedy, they ministered to me. Grief is funny that way.

After the birth of our first in 2015, I got hit by an unexpected bout of postpartum anxiety and baby blues. I was lonely, but nervous to reach out. I wanted help, but I didn’t know how to ask for it. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. I was in pain, but couldn’t fix it. I loved my baby, but I dreaded feeding her. It was so hard, and so unexpected because she was our rainbow baby who I had waited my entire life for: motherhood was my calling! I was completely derailed by these emotions and hormones, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I felt like I had no control. I clung to Scripture, my husband, and my baby, and told very few people how I felt. I said no to well-meaning friends and visitors because I was embarrassed by how I looked and felt.