This is an excerpt from the Reader’s Digest March 2003 issue, page 132.  The best workout plan ever is men who have sexual intercourse two or more times a week.  They are 50 per cent less likely to die from coronary heart disease than those who have sex less than once a month, according to research done by the University of Bristol in England.

I often wondered if this workout had the same effect on women. 

Having had four babies, I could no longer fit into most of my pre-natal blouses and skirts.  I had expected this, and thus, did not find this a too distressing matter to handle.

Approximately six months after having my last baby, I made a decision that I would give myself a new beginning in the form of a new body.  I do not consider myself a vain pot.  However looking in the mirror everyday, I secretly confessed to myself that I would gladly trade my flabby stomach for a well toned one.       

So, I once again, jump started my daily workout routine.  There are only two fitness gurus in my life, Jane Fonda and Kathy Smith.  Now you have some inkling of which generation I come from.  Unlike most women, I actually enjoy working out.  I enjoy waving my arms wildly in the air and kicking my legs in all directions.  Workouts seem to provide a way to easily channel out stress from my body system.

The old story was, that is before I got married and had children,  I could jump around in front of the television for as long as I wanted to.  Normally this would be an hour or so before I collapsed due to extreme fatigue.  I never did figure out how the fitness trainers and their counterparts could still smile and look so fresh after a vigorous workout. 

The new story is more interesting and extremely short.  This is after having four children.  I turned on my Kathy Smith workout DVD, and started moving my limbs to the beat of the music.  In less than five minutes, I found a toddler trying to crawl between my legs as if it was a fun game as I tried, in a futile manner of course, to march in accordance to the tempo of the music.  Folks, that was the end of my workout. 

Thereafter I tried, albeit in a series of failed attempts to start my workout routines but these never culminated to anything.  There was always something that needed my attention immediately; a crying baby, a whiny toddler or an ensuing fight between the two elder boys.    
 
Needless to mention, it was easier to do nothing than to start the workout routines.  So, I stopped doing the workouts that I hardly started doing.  The flabby stomach stayed, and I shelved my dream body aside which was supposedly to resemble GI Jane’s.  It seemed that the new beginning that I wanted to give myself had abruptly ended before it had a chance to begin.  

Recently, my spouse has bestowed me with the prestigious ‘aunty’ title.   The aunty of the house need not worry about brushing her teeth in the mornings.  She need not worry about a bad hairdo day.  In fact, she need not even have to worry about brushing her hair.  The aunty of the house need not have to crack her head thinking of what apparel to put on for the day. It is deemed to be perfectly normal for the aunty to be still in her pyjamas even when noon approaches.

The aunty is given all the freedom she desires with one condition. The children are her main responsibility.  With children aged from nine years old to nine months old, the aunty’s day’s work never ends but stretches late into the night.     

I love the boys, and I love my spouse.  But lately, it is disturbing to note that my spouse has perceived me to be a frump.  In his mind, I had become the mundane, steadfast mother whose role is to be a constant provider of food and security for the family.   In some ways, this holds true.  I am after all, the mother of his children. 

Mothers are not seen as sexual beings.  I am fine by this statement.   The issue is this; my spouse is not my son, and I am not his mother! 

Ever time he calls me aunty, I get really mad.  Stop it, I want to yell out.  Look, can’t you see that I still have curves and breasts, I want to scream back at him. 

It wasn’t his fault.  The curves and the breasts were hidden beneath layers of shapeless, oversized, worn out T-shirts and baggy culottes.  Uninteresting and unattractive, this form of clothing is good for comfort but does nothing to fire up one’s imagination!     

I hated to admit this to myself, but I was not only perceived as a frump, I was a frump. 

How many two legged females  with cleavages does he see on the streets every day, I wondered.  Without warning, a feeling of insecurity welled up from within.    

Then, I chanced upon the workout article printed in Reader’s Digest. 

I needed to workout, but most importantly I needed to feel attractive once again. 

I went rummaging in the darkest corner of my cupboard for my light pink lingerie.  Sleeveless and made of transparent material, it is adorned with lace at the hem.  I finally found it hidden in between two T shirts, and in good condition.  After all, it had been only worn once or twice and had since been lying untouched for years and years now.

Gingerly, I slipped the flimsy material over my head.  It had fitted perfectly the first time I wore it.  Now it was too tight every where.  I looked into the mirror.   Of course, the first part screaming for my attention was my flabby stomach.  Purposely ignoring that, I glanced at the other parts of my body and took pleasure in knowing that the lingerie had also done a good job accentuating my womanly curves.

The first night ever I wore it after my baby was born, which was almost ten months ago, my spouse looked at me twice.  I finally caught his attention.  And mind you, he didn’t call me ‘aunty’ at all that night.  

Getting to exercise in bed proved to be more difficult.  That night, the baby woke up crying twice in a row and the toddler found his way into our bedroom to spend the rest of his night. 

Regardless, it was a good start to more interesting nights to come.  Instead of chucking the lingerie back into the dark corner of my cupboard, it now hangs behind my room door for easy retrieval. 

There were many more hot, steamy nights after that fateful one.  Some nights we worked out in bed, other nights we didn’t.  Regardless, it is good to feel attractive once again.

I also discovered that having sex is like riding a bicycle.  It has almost been a year,  but you never forget how it’s done even after a long, long time. 

Get intimate with your partner today.  You might discover yourself once again. If that does not motivate you, think of the health benefits involved when you take part in this pleasurable activity.   

Cheers!  And a good weekend!