You've got to be fit to be a wedding photographer

News in my world is that I've started going to the gym. I've been huffing and puffing and sweating and cussing and and throwing myself around in an attempt to get fit (read: lose the 8 extra bags of oranges I'm hauling around). 

I used to go to the gym, way back in the day. Before babies, and stress-induced chocolate binges, and sitting in front of the computer for hours editing photos. It was much easier then. I could grapevine for hours. Now I can barely lift my arms to feed myself a grape the next morning.

 In some ways though, it was harder. When I was younger it was all about looking good, checking out the chick next to me and making sure my butt was smaller than hers, and checking out which hot boys were checking me out. This time round, I don't give a bouncy butt about any of that stuff. I'm content to be the un-coordinated one wearing mismatching socks, an oversized t-shirt with holes in it and a beet-red face. But if you see me gagging for breath while doing a very awkward version of the nutbush, I don't advise offering me assistance. I might collapse in your arms and beg you to take me to the nearest bakery! 

Ryan loves dressing up in beads, can you tell? Wasn't so impressed with me when I took this photo of him, but I love love love it. 

And I love his downy baby fluff. 

* Meaghan