I’m just gonna say it:

I’m struggling with the postpartum bod.

It comes in waves.

Moments when I watch my daughter sleeping or playing or delicately trying to eat a clump of dog hair off of the couch, I am filled with awe at what my body has created and brought into the world.

She is a precious miracle. An absolute blessing. It truly boggles the mind, doesn’t it?

And then in many other moments that occur at more frequent intervals throughout the day, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and wonder when upper arm cellulite became a thing.

…Or when all of the varicose veins from pregnancy will finally fade. (Never, right? The answer is never.)

…Or when my back will stop feeling like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap.

…Or when people will stop asking me when the baby is due, despite the fact that I am currently holding a baby.

When? WHEN WILL IT STOP?

(Never, right? The answer is never.)

I missed the old me. The old me, who, yes, still had cellulite but could at least wear pants with a zipper.

It was time to bring fitness back.

Time to get moving and get back to the gym. (Preferably without actually going to a gym.)

I was becoming desperate for a new workout plan. So when I came across a copy of Sandra Boynton’s acclaimed Barnyard Dance!, I was pleased as punch.

Yes, I thought. This is the key.

I’d heard of Barnyard Dance! before.

Moms love Sandra Boynton. I’d eavesdropped (but in the fun, all casual-like way, not the creepy and so, so lonely way. The fun way) while other moms at the pediatrician’s office chatted about their favorite Boyntons.

They swore by Barnyard Dance! Raved about Dinosaur Dance! And couldn’t seem to get enough of Let’s Dance, Little Pookie.

They spoke of Sandra Boynton in hushed, revered tones, the way that I speak about Judy Blume or Tami Taylor or Corky St. Clair.

I got the sense that Sandra was a real guru for moms; like a Jillian Michaels for the postpartum. And while I am generally wary of workouts that are focused around dance (I tried Zumba once and couldn’t bear it.), I was ready to give this Barnyard Dance! a whirl to see if it lived up to its hype.

So after the baby went down for a nap, I prepared myself by changing out of my current pair of leggings into a different pair of leggings. I also put on shoes and deodorant. (Then I felt a little overdressed and foolish, so I wiped off the deodorant. Who did I think I was, the Queen of England?)

I drank some water, did a few light stretches, ate six brownies, opened the manual and dove right in.

WARM UP

Things started out well.

“Stomp your feet!

Clap your hands!

Everybody ready for a barnyard dance!”

Clear, easy to follow instructions. This was good.

I began a slow, steady stomp in my living room and clapped my hands to the beat.

With my heart rate slowly rising, I decided to keep my stomping at a slower rate, planning to build up to a more rigorous stomp as the workout proceeded.

After a few minutes of stomping and clapping, I felt I, too, was ready for a barnyard dance.

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via GIPHY

HERE WE GO

The next set of instructions was a bit unclear. They involved bowing to a horse.

Horse? I didn’t have a horse. It wasn’t included in the list of necessary equipment needed to do Barnyard Dance! (In fact, my copy of the Barnyard Dance! manual didn’t come with any list of required equipment, which I didn’t really appreciate.)

The next move? Bowing to a cow.

I didn’t have a cow, either.

I had already missed the first two reps by frantically gazing around my living room, searching for a horse or cow or something like a horse or cow.

It’s fine, I told myself. You’re doing great.

I tried to focus on maintaining proper form with my stomping and clapping. But I was becoming more aware of each beat that went by without performing my bows. I quickly debated between bowing to either the Diaper Genie in the corner or the beabull sleeping on the couch, deciding that the beabull was the most cow-like.

The vet tells me she is ten pounds overweight.

Stomp. Clap. Stomp. Clap.

“Twirl with the pig if you know how.”

Oh, come on. What’s this now? Who has a pig ready for twirling?

And besides, even if I DID, I’m not sure that I do know how to twirl a pig. Shouldn’t tricky moves like that that be covered in the instructions before you start the workout?

It also seemed quite a strenuous move to be placed so early in the routine, but perhaps that’s just because I missed my bows and hadn’t done so much as a sit-up in more than a year.

I twirled myself in a circle, sans pig.

I was starting to have a weird feeling about this Barnyard Dance! workout but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Nonetheless, I stomped on to the next set of instructions.

They were even worse.

I was told to bounce with a bunny.

To strut with the duck. (WHAT DUCK?)

And to spin with the chickens—“CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK.”

My frustration was starting to mount.

These instructions were extremely unhelpful.

I did not have a bunny, duck or chickens to bounce, strut and spin with. How could they expect this of me? I live in an apartment.

My questions grew:

• When were we going to begin the high-intensity interval portion of the workout?
• How fast should I be strutting?
• Could I use rubber tubing in place of a chicken?
• Was there going to be a water and cookie break soon?

I searched the instructions for notes on substitutions/modifications, but found none.

CARDIO

“With a BAA and a MOO and a COCKADOODLEDOO

Everybody promenade two by two!”

I promenaded around the living room, carefully stepping over toys and crayons, a small plush chair shaped like an elephant, five open containers of Play-Doh, the terrifying Elmo doll that talks, 28 board books and a Mr. Bean figurine.

I let out a loud (but not too loud, the baby is sleeping for god’s sake) BAA and a MOO but didn’t manage the COCKADOODLEDOO in time. I told myself I’d do an extra one in the next set.

More stomping.

Quick water/peanut butter break.

More clapping.

Next page.

I’d like to tell you that things improved from here, but they didn’t.

There were no jumping jacks. No push-ups. No lunges, walking OR stationary.

Instead, I was instructed to prance with horses, slide with sheep and skitter with mice. (Don’t even get me started on the modification I had to do with this one!)

I wondered how all of the other moms managed to do the Barnyard Dance! workout, and I tried not to let my jealousy grow, but it was hard.

They’ve got the fancy strollers, the nice nursing bras that don’t randomly unsnap at any given moment; the organic baby food and surely all of the cows and chickens needed for the Barnyard Dance! workout.

All I’ve got is an ingrown toenail, an overweight dog and Elmo.

I realized that my mind was wandering into bad territory. This was not healthy. I needed to take back control.

I increased my stomping and clapping tenfold and began to chant BAA and MOO again, a deep, guttural recitation that used my stomach muscles and reminded me that I was a strong, powerful woman.

BAA

MOO

BAA

MOO

This helped.

I moved onto the next phase of the workout.

Or I tried to, at least. I really did. I did my promenades around the living room. I tried to interpret “Scramble with the little chicks” in a way that incorporated low-impact strength training, but had to admit defeat after a few aimless hops.

I couldn’t trot with the turkey.

Didn’t leap with the frog.

I DID stand with the donkey, just minus the donkey. I did this for 30 reps.

By this point, I was growing weary of the workout.

My moods had swung wildly throughout, from feeling like a worthless, reeking mother (seriously, where was my deodorant?!) to an empowered, capable goddess (BAA. MOO.).

My palms were starting to sting from the clapping and my downstairs neighbors had pounded on the ceiling four times; I’m guessing due to the extremely loud and ceaseless stomping.

Luckily, I had reached the cool down portion of the workout.

COOL DOWN

“Turn with the cow in a patch of clover.”

Hmmm.

This one stumped me a bit.

Living in the city, I couldn’t recall ever seeing a patch of clover.

In fact, my apartment was at least a good two blocks away from the nearest patch of grass, and I hesitated at the thought of doing anything in it. (It was part of a homeless man’s turf, you see, and Willie liked to leave bits of food, condom and shredded clothing strewn about.)

I gazed out of my apartment window to the alley below, where the garbage bins are stored and where the raccoons live.

Was there a patch of clover I could use?

I saw an old mattress, an overturned recycling bin and what looked to be a dead pigeon. But no clover.

But nonetheless, I persevered.

I ended the workout by taking a final bow. I was supposed to do an OINK and a MOO and a QUACK QUACK QUACK, but I skipped it. I felt a little silly, to be honest. I don’t know why.

I slowed my stomping down until I was merely tapping my toes and went to get some water and four granola bars to refuel.

I had completed the Barnyard Dance! workout.

THE VERDICT

In the end, I have to say that I only recommend Barnyard Dance! as an effective workout should you actually be exercising in a barnyard, or perhaps a farm or petting zoo. It is just too frustrating otherwise.

And while it is a fast workout (Very fast, actually— about six minutes start to finish) and I did find the cute pictures of animals to be motivating, my Fitbit told me I only burned 11 calories.

I also received a warning letter from my building management about the stomping.

The one bonus was that I have continued to use BAA and MOO as a personal mantra of sorts, whispering it to myself in times of stress, and have found it to be an excellent meditation tool.

But otherwise, you’d probably be better off just doing a workout video from YouTube.

What about you?

Moms (and Dads!), have any of you tried the Barnyard Dance! workout? How about Dinosaur Dance! or Let’s Dance, Little Pookie? If so, what did you think? Let’s talk!

Also, do you have any other workouts you would recommend? (NO STOMPING ONES, PLEASE!!!!)