I will never own a FitBit. It might destroy me. I have just enough OCD to view each day as an extension of the one before – a staircase descending to self-improvement hell. My nature runs contrary to continual data. After a month, I’d be Forrest Gump-ing it – running across country because my FitBit whispered that I could. I did buy one for my husband though. True to his nature, he let in die a quiet death on his bedside table, charger and data lost in the abyss of loose change and Breathe Right strips.
It’s not that I mind the idea. Health is important. Go arteries! Keep pumping! Go calories! Keep lighting that metabolic fire! But, as a mom, I just don’t have the mental energy to process those statistics. I’ve got other metadata I’m tracking: like the ever-changing nap schedule and how long past the expiration date I ate that last tub of yogurt. But, if moms could design the perfect FitBit, man, that’s something I’d want in on. Forget eats and steps and hours slept. Here’s what I’d be charting to give myself the “go team” butt slap I truly deserve.
If that doesn’t factor in to the Ben and Jerry’s and wine supply, then I don’t know what would. Our mammaries work hard for the money. They lost their girly figure all in the name of progeny. My FitBit would make the “cha-ching” noise after every ounce spent, like an old-fashioned cash register, coughing up the goods.
Minutes of bathroom solitude
The “Jaws” theme song cues up the minute I close the bathroom door. It’s only a matter of time before the sharks circle the waters, sensing vulnerable prey. The time setting on this might need to be downgraded to seconds. A full minute could be asking too much. Bonus points though if I make it all the way through without a toddler asking to see if I pooped.
Meals eaten sitting down
Forget calories. I want a gold medal for getting off my feet. How is it that the minute I sit down, everyone else is done? Where has the time and the food gone? Surely a FitBit could track the shift in atmospheric pressure when I finally make it to the table? It is so rare nowadays when gravity becomes my friend. We’ve all seen what it has done to the rest of our anatomy. Sitting to eat is really just Botox for the butt, pushing everything back where it belongs.
Body shapes on the food pyramid
You know the baby-tracking app that shows the growth of your precious cargo in terms of fruits and vegetables? I want my FitBit to track my changing shape in such terms. For instance, before children I was a slender pear, an organic Bartlett, let’s say. Then came the children. Now I’m more like a Harry and David Royal Verano, luscious. My FitBit would applaud and show the graphic in fine detail. People pay a lot of money for that kind of produce.
Hours to naptime, bedtime, and graduation
I love my kids, cross my heart and my c-section scar. But if there has ever been a day that didn’t have me counting down the minutes to sleeps, I don’t recall it. We play hard. So, we need to sleep hard. Or they do and I need to sit on the couch with my husband and the watch Julia Louis-Dreyfus curse like a pro on “Veep.” My FitBit would be prescient, predicting the actual moment sleep will occur. Forget this no-napping and vague bedtime business. I’m throwing graduation in there too, just to be sure it does, in fact, happen.
Hours clocked doing homework not my own
I’d have my doctorate by now if I’d clocked this much time on my own work in school. I’m a millennial who’s going to have to remember fifth grade arithmetic and how to use a No. 2 pencil on graph paper. I want that on record somewhere.
Mass of “Why?” questions answered
Do you remember the old Tootsie Pop commercial with the owl? The slogan was, “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” I want my FitBit to count how many “why” questions it takes before I crack. Why are you always talking about saving the bees when you hate bees, mommy? Why do we have to brush our teeth? Why do we have to go to school when it’s sunny? Why do I have to wear shoes in the gas station? Why are you ignoring me? How many “whys” does it take to get to the center of a mom’s psyche? My FitBit would tell you.
I’ve got nothing against the current fitness trackers. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a FitBit that counted the real impact of being a mom? I’m not saying this is genius, Apple Watch territory, per say. But Silicon Valley, can you feel me?