I have an idea for a personal weight-loss regime. It goes something like this. I get a diaper. I spot my toddler. I get his attention. I then announce, loudly, "time for a diaper change!"
Game on.
Having zero desire to relinquish the poo, he runs like an escaped parolee hopped up on crank toting a stolen television set sprinting through the trailer park with half the police force of Hicksville and the entire "Cops" camera crew in tow, while I engage in a frantic steeplechase over the couch, around the chairs, and under the dining room table.
My old age and treachery will eventually prevail over his youth and skill. I figure I'll nab him by the side of the fridge, possibly at the front door, and if that fickle goddess Fate smiles upon me, I'll do so with at worst a bruise or three. Him? He'll get giggles and a clean diaper out of the deal. It could be worse.
At the rate the little guy goes, this is good for at least 30 to 45 minutes of good cardiovascular workout time a day.
In addition, if he gets really good at it, this may be viewed as the foundation for his future in football, securing his old man and mother a comfortable retirement and, if we're lucky, sky box tickets for Super Bowl LXXV. I'd settle for the weight loss and the joyful giggling from Mr. Man as he evades Daddy Chunkster, but I'd certainly not object to the sky box tickets for what it's worth.
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