"As for me, I'll take one baby marinated in a dish please"

What do you mean you aren’t ecstatic when I bring my child through those doors….

The gym is really getting me down these days.  Aside from the fact that every time I go I see that idiot personal trainer who implied I had almost 100lbs to lose (still slightly offended), I just can’t seem to get excited about going.
                                         There he is. Prized trainer who damaged my soul.
Normally I don’t mind the gym at all.  I like working out, I don’t mind sweating and I always feel super good afterwards.  Plus, it’s a little “me” time. So for the last few weeks, I haven’t really been able to understand what my deal was.  
And then two-days-ago, as I was dropping Ellyette off at the gym daycare so I could go huff and puff on the treadmill for an hour, it dawned on me.  The daycare workers don’t like my kid.  In fact, I have really only been able to work out for a full hour less than 5 times over the last few months because one of them always comes to get me to take her away.  Once, I only got the chance to work out for six minutes before they hunted me down to get her.
How could they not like my bundle of perfection?  I mean, she is MY kid. She doesn’t have a snotty nose (very often), she loves beautiful things, and she is a total angel all the time.
Except for when she is not.

But her issues are less about being a crazy terror, and more about being a little “needy.” She wants to be held or rocked pretty much all the time and can be quite demanding about it. 
Still, it bewilders me that of all the kids they watch at a given time, when they step foot on the gym floor in distress looking for the parent of an unruly child, they are looking for me.
The reason this is so bewildering is because in the few minutes I spend inside that daycare, I see kids beating on each other, tears, hitting, toy theft and the works.  Kids from 8-weeks-old to 10-years roam those matted floors up to 20 at a time.  And yet, I still know that when I walk through those doors, Ellyette is the one they fear.
Most recently, two of the girls have devised a plan to keep her from crying.  They will hold her until they get tired of it, and then they will put her in an infant swing for kids half her size and set her right in front of where they sit.  Then every time she starts to fuss they “shhhh” her and watch the clock until I come back (assuming they haven’t already come out to grab me).
So for me, workouts are not that enjoyable.  I spend the whole time looking for the girls who are looking for me, wondering how Ellyette is behaving and being annoyed that I can’t lose those last five pounds regardless of how many miles I run, how much I sweat, or how often I show up.
I thought that I had finally come to terms with the last five pounds that I would never lose over the last year. I reasoned that I would never get rid of them for three reasons.
1.     Every time I lose the “last five,” I realize I have five more to go.
2.     I celebrate far too many things in life.  It’s Thursday? Time for a Champagne toast.  Dinner with friends because they are my friends?  Yes please.  Ellyette sleeping through the night?  Time for some rack of lamb, a twice-baked potato, Brussel sprouts and a bottle of wine.  And that doesn’t even include holidays, birthdays, BBQ’s, pool parties, fiestas, happy hours, friends, family and all the other events that require life celebrations.
3.     I love food. And cooking. And eating. And Carbs
So as it stands, my motivation level has greatly tapered off when it comes to the gym.  Good thing I’m getting ready to go on vacation.  Now I can skip it without feeling guilty.  So tonight, I will raise a glass to that.