Ah, the post-baby body. Let's not go into vivid detail-some of you may be eating. But if you're a mother, you know what I'm talking about. Those hips, those thighs, those two saggy tube socks waving in the wind hoping somebody doesn't trip on them. Things just aren't the same.

So, after giving birth to two babies, I decided it was time to get in shape. Time to regain my energy. Time to actually use my sweatpants for sweating. True, I couldn't afford a fancy gym, but there had to be something better than my last exercise program, which consisted of sitting on the couch watching "Elmocize" and eating left-over chicken nuggets and whole milk yogurt.

In my pre-kid days, I was in great shape, wore non-drawstring pants, and didn't get winded unscrewing a jar of pickles. Of course, all I lived on was caffeine and happy hour snacks, but I also worked-out with a personal trainer. Yep, a personal trainer-that's what I needed. But, at $75 or more an hour, most didn't fit into my budget. In fact, none fit into my budget. The only personal trainer I could afford was named Sam: my 2-year-old son.

Armed with a jogging stroller, bottles of water, and a metric ton of patience, Sam and I started walking (rather, I pushed his 32-pounds of dead weight, he lounged in the stroller like a Persian prince) around the extremely steep hills in our neighborhood. This may surprise you, but during our workouts, I noticed a few differences between the methods of a real personal trainer and Sam's, such as:

Personal trainer: Visualize yourself fit, healthy and in control.

Sam: Ha, ha! Your tummy wiggle jiggles, mommy!

Personal trainer: A few light stretches prepares your muscles.

Sam: Change his diaper, get him dressed, retrieve shoes from under couch, change another diaper, hunt down sippy cup, pour in purple juice, dump out, pour in yellow juice, put on sunscreen, put on bug spray, wrestle into hat, wrestle into stroller, leave house. Return to house. Pour in purple juice.

Personal trainer: Work at a level where you can carry on a conversation.

Sam: What dat, mommy? Why he doing dat? Where we going? Why we going there? Why you making that noise mommy? Why me be quiet? Don't want to play quiet game. Why you stop, mommy? Why face so red? What do "put a sock in it" mean, mommy?

Personal trainer: You can do it. Believe in yourself.

Sam: "Move it or lose it, lady!" (He spends a lot of time driving with my husband.)

Personal trainer: Repetition builds strength.

Sam: Drop toy. Whine until mommy squats to pick it up. Repeat 100 times or until mommy repeatedly crushes toy under stroller's wheels while laughing maniacally.

Personal trainer: Remains focused on optimizing your workout.

Sam: Two toy cars and a package of contraband cookies and you're sitting pretty on someone's lawn for a good twenty minutes or until the sprinklers come on.

Personal trainer: Deep breathing, meditation.

Sam: Are you kidding? He's 2. He'll cool down in about 16 years.

So am I in better shape? Yeah, I guess I look and feel better. Do all of these walks mean I get a chance to spend more time with my son? Sure. Am I strongly considering extorting Sam's college fund to pay for a tummy tuck and liposuction? Hell, yeah. He'll be making $75 an hour by then, anyway.