Several years ago, I served as midwife to a young black cat that gave birth to six kittens in the bottom of my bathroom closet. She was a stray who had adopted us, and at some point in time, found herself in the “family way.” Imagine…six kittens in her very first (and only) pregnancy!

For years, she slept at the end of our bed, snapping at my feet under the covers, and even growling should I disturb her by rolling over or otherwise jostling the mattress.

I think I hate that cat. But it’s not her sour-puss disposition that annoys me. Her infraction is much more serious than that: She has the best body I’ve ever seen.

Lithe and elegant, she loves to roll over and taunt me with her taught tummy. No sagging, no stretch marks…just rock hard abs. I hate that cat!

For me, one of the toughest parts about becoming a mom is what happened to my body, and I’m not talking about labor (although that deserves serious respect).  The whole thing can be summed up by the first time I weighed myself after giving birth.  I was shocked to realize that, although I could now carry my baby in my arms, most of the pregnancy weight was still on my hips, thighs and tri-fold tummy!

I was able to get back into reasonable shape by breast feeding and working out to television exercise programs.  I maintained a comfortable weight for a good decade. Not skinny, but healthy. And then, it happened.  My metabolism disappeared.  I misplaced it … or something.  And my weight started to creep up. Currently, my life includes exercise in moderation and an attempt to engage in an activity that’s good for my heart, helps burn calories, is beneficial to my bones, and doesn’t hurt my joints.

Ironically, all that wretched cat does every day is eat, sleep, and play, after which she rolls over and shows me her belly. I really hate that cat.