Apparently, We Are All Exercising Now
- Hampton Law Firm ⚖️
- Jul 14
- 6 min read
About a year ago, I started doing pelvic Pilates because my lower back hurt. This was unusually responsible of me. My normal medical plan is to ignore a problem until it becomes disruptive, Google it at midnight, briefly diagnose myself with something fatal, and then wake up the next morning and go to work.
Pelvic Pilates, annoyingly, worked. My back got better. My abs got stronger. At some point, I looked in the mirror and realized I had developed what I consider the thirty-eight-year-old mother-of-three equivalent of a six-pack. It is not an actual six-pack. Nobody is oiling me down for a fitness competition. But under favorable conditions, with decent lighting, an empty stomach, and absolutely no sudden twisting, there are abdominal muscles attempting to make contact with the outside world.
I am very proud of them.
We have been through a lot.
I exercise upstairs because my stair stepper is up there, and I close the door because I have three children. Closing a door in a house with children is mostly symbolic, like putting a velvet rope around a crime scene in the middle of Walmart. It communicates that I would prefer privacy. It does not actually create privacy.
The stair stepper is not a problem. It looks like exercise. I get on it, climb imaginary stairs for no apparent geographic purpose, sweat through my clothes, and voluntarily experience shortness of breath. The children have accepted this as one of the many strange things adults do after complaining all day that they are tired.
Pelvic Pilates is visually more difficult to defend.
When I am doing it, I feel athletic. I feel controlled. I am engaging my core, stabilizing my lower back, and making small, deliberate movements with all the dignity of a woman investing in her long-term physical health.
That is apparently not what it looks like from the doorway.
From the doorway, it appears that I have put on workout clothes, shut myself in an upstairs room, gotten on the floor, and started aggressively thrusting my pelvis toward the ceiling.
There is no visible lower-back context.
No anatomy chart.
No physical therapist standing nearby with a clipboard.
Just Mommy on the floor.
My oldest daughter was the first one to discover this.
She is almost ten, which means she has reached the age where she knows there are things in this world she does not fully understand and has also developed the good judgment to occasionally leave them that way.
She opened the door and saw me.
I saw her.
She looked at me long enough to establish that I was alive, conscious, and probably acting voluntarily.
Then her face changed.
I watched a child experience uncertainty, concern, trust, and a complete lack of desire for additional information in approximately four seconds.
She simply walked away.
That child will make an excellent lawyer.
She had questions. I know she had questions. I could see at least twelve questions forming behind her eyes. She made the mature decision that none of the potential answers were necessary for her continued development and withdrew from the area.
I respect that tremendously.
JB is six and does not yet possess this instinct.
JB walked in, saw me on the floor, and immediately found the entire situation hysterical.
Not mildly amusing. He reacted like he had paid admission and I had delivered.
To him, there was no possible medical explanation for what he was seeing because six-year-old boys do not recognize the lumbar spine as a legitimate concern. His mother had apparently waited until no one was looking, gone upstairs, and begun repeatedly flinging her hips into the air like a fish experiencing a neurological event.
This was excellent news.
I have tried deliberately to make JB laugh. I have told jokes. I have made faces. I have embarrassed myself in public.
Nothing has ever entertained that child like finding his mother on the floor attempting to develop abdominal muscles.
Then Vivian found us.
Vivian is three, and three-year-olds do not waste valuable time observing before participating.
My oldest daughter evaluated the scene and left. JB evaluated the scene and laughed.
Vivian evaluated absolutely nothing.
She got on the floor.
Immediately.
There was no question about what we were doing or why. Apparently, she believed she had walked in late to a family activity and needed to catch up.
Within seconds, she was beside me attempting pelvic Pilates with the form and restraint of a baby goat being electrocuted.
I am trying to make controlled movements.
Vivian is launching her entire pelvis into space.
I am focusing on my breathing.
She is using momentum, both legs, several unrelated muscle groups, and what appeared to be blind faith.
I am thirty-eight years old trying to protect my lower back.
She is three and trying to break hers recreationally.
And JB is still laughing.
At one point, I looked around the room and realized what had happened. I had gone upstairs to quietly exercise. My oldest child had entered, seen enough to permanently alter her understanding of privacy, and fled. My son had discovered free live entertainment. My three-year-old had started an unauthorized advanced-level pelvic Pilates program beside me.
I was now leading the worst fitness class in North Louisiana.
There was no registration.
No waiver.
One participant had left without explanation.
One refused to stop laughing.
The youngest was performing movements not recognized by the human musculoskeletal system.
And I was the instructor despite having learned everything I know from the internet.
This is motherhood.
Not the soft-focus version where a woman in an oatmeal-colored sweater smiles while her children help bake bread.
Real motherhood.
The version where you try to do one thing for your lower back and accidentally expose all three of your children to the same event at different stages of cognitive development.
I have always said having children is the closest thing available to living under constant surveillance by people with no training, no boundaries, and wildly different standards of evidence. I haven’t actually always said that, but it sounds good.
My oldest daughter sees everything and files it away for future review.
JB sees everything and hopes somebody falls.
Vivian assumes everything is interactive.
There is no activity so personal, boring, difficult, or medically necessary that one of my children cannot somehow become involved.
I cannot exercise without an audience. I cannot take a shower without receiving information through the door. I cannot go upstairs for twenty minutes without someone eventually conducting a welfare check.
And the more suspiciously private I try to make an activity look, the faster they arrive.
Closing the door was my first mistake.
Children can sense a closed door from three rooms away.
A closed door in a house with children does not mean “please leave me alone.” It means there is something happening on the other side that may be more interesting than the approximately four thousand dollars’ worth of toys currently available to them.
So I still exercise upstairs. I still use the stair stepper. I still do pelvic Pilates because my back feels better and I have become emotionally invested in my almost-six-pack.
I just understand the risks now.
At any moment, the door may open.
My oldest may take one look at me and quietly decide this is information she will process in therapy at thirty-four.
JB may appear and laugh until he cannot breathe.
Vivian may throw herself on the floor and begin a movement so violent it requires a spotter.
And I will keep exercising.
Because somewhere beneath three pregnancies, lower-back pain, and a house full of people who refuse to respect a closed door, I have almost found abdominal muscles.
I have seen them.
Briefly.
Under controlled conditions.
They are there.
And after everything those children and my stomach have been through, I believe I am entitled to finish the workout.
Judith L. Hampton
Attorney-at-Law
Hampton Law Firm
Local Roots & Trusted Service for the Northeast Louisiana Area.
Areas of Practice Include:
📌Successions
📌Estate Planning
📌Real Estate & Title Insurance
📌Criminal Defense
📌Uncontested Divorce
📌Boundary Disputes
📌Interdiction & Guardianship
📌 Other Civil Matters
🗓️Schedule Your Appointment With Attorney Judith L. Hampton below:
📃Prefer to skip the appointment? Send us your information via our secure intake form using the button below:
🛍️Need a simple legal document without the attorney fees? Shop our self-help legal templates drafted by Judith L. Hampton, Licensed Louisiana Attorney by clicking the link below:
🔔Would you benefit from ongoing access to attorney guidance and legal advice for less than the cost of a consultation fee? Check out our subscription plans using the link below. All subscribers gain free access to our entire document library, receive monthly attorney guidance and 25% off of all full representation services.
Come see us at:
📍 203 North Main Street
Farmerville, Louisiana 71231
Contact us at:
📱 Call or Text 318-368-7444
💬 For a quick-start, text "HELP" to 318-368-7444
🛜 Chat with our front desk using our App – Join our mobile community by downloading the “Spaces by Wix” App for free from your App store, search “Hampton Law Firm” and use Invite Code VCZQIA to join!
Comments