Coby's got a gun

I'm not exactly what you'd call strapping. And I'm not even sure I qualify under able-bodied. Somehow I missed the train when it came to inheriting muscles at all, actually. In fact, nonexistent musculature on a 6-foot frame and a BMI of 17 all make it a little obvious I'm pushing the envelope even when I call myself slight.

My typical massage - Masseuse: "My goodness! You have the tightest calves I've ever kneaded." Me: "Actually, I think my calves may be a few inches higher." Masseuse: "Hmmm...is this your calf?" Me: "Not sure. Let me try flexing..." Masseuse: "...Well, never mind. I'll move to your foot - I can locate that one."

So imagine my delight when I suddenly discovered last year that my life-long noodle arms actually had *gasp* definition. Forget years of volleyball and basketball and tennis and backyard monkey bars - it only took four years of lifting children for my arm muscles to rear their angry little heads. I mean, even Rob once grazed my arm while in child-use and exclaimed, "Is that...an arm muscle??? Wow! Oh, how cute! It is!"

But recently? Well, recently I've noticed that my forcing Silas to walk most everywhere has led to a peculiar softening and shrinking in my biceps. Dang it!

So I've tried to step up my game. Did someone want soup for lunch? [arm curl, arm curl] No?... Who took out this playdough for the third time?? Never mind, I'll put it back. [triceps extension, triceps extension] So today at the pool, as I was trying to covertly do pushups on a ledge while floating next to Jannika, Rob caught my eye and looked at me strangely. Come June 17, I can do baby lifts all day with my new little niece, Greta. For a whole two weeks. After that…well…not sure. Anyone have a baby that I can rent a few times a week?