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 \u2013 a staircase descending to self-improvement hell. My nature runs contrary to continual data. After a month, I\u2019d be Forrest Gump-ing it \u2013 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.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s 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\u2019t have the mental energy to process those statistics. I\u2019ve got other metadata I\u2019m 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\u2019s something I\u2019d want in on. Forget eats and steps and hours slept. Here\u2019s what I\u2019d be charting to give myself the \u201cgo team\u201d butt slap I truly deserve.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Ounces nursed<\/h1>\n

If that doesn\u2019t factor in to the Ben and Jerry\u2019s and wine supply, then I don\u2019t 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 \u201ccha-ching\u201d noise after every ounce spent, like an old-fashioned cash register, coughing up the goods.<\/p>\n

Minutes of bathroom solitude<\/h1>\n

The \u201cJaws\u201d theme song cues up the minute I close the bathroom door. It\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

Meals eaten sitting down<\/h1>\n

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\u2019ve 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.<\/p>\n

Body shapes on the food pyramid<\/h1>\n

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\u2019s say. Then came the children. Now I\u2019m 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.<\/p>\n

Hours to naptime, bedtime, and graduation<\/h1>\n

I love my kids, cross my heart and my c-section scar. But if there has ever been a day that didn\u2019t have me counting down the minutes to sleeps, I don\u2019t 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 \u201cVeep.\u201d My FitBit would be prescient, predicting the actual moment sleep will occur. Forget this no-napping and vague bedtime business. I\u2019m throwing graduation in there too, just to be sure it does, in fact, happen.<\/p>\n

Hours clocked doing homework not my own<\/h1>\n

I\u2019d have my doctorate by now if I\u2019d clocked this much time on my own work in school. I\u2019m a millennial who\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

Mass of \u201cWhy?\u201d questions answered<\/h1>\n

Do you remember the old Tootsie Pop commercial with the owl? The slogan was, \u201cHow many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?\u201d I want my FitBit to count how many \u201cwhy\u201d 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\u2019s sunny? Why do I have to wear shoes in the gas station? Why are you ignoring me? How many \u201cwhys\u201d does it take to get to the center of a mom\u2019s psyche? My FitBit would tell you.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got nothing against the current fitness trackers. But wouldn\u2019t it be nice to have a FitBit that counted the real impact of being a mom? I\u2019m not saying this is genius, Apple Watch territory, per say. But Silicon Valley, can you feel me?<\/p>\n

*Thinking out loud with\u00a0Amanda<\/a> and reviewing life with Meg<\/a>. This article was originally published on Parent.co.<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do you wear a FitBit? What would you have it track if you could pick?<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Save<\/span><\/p>\n

Save<\/span><\/p>\n

Save<\/span><\/p>\n

Save<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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 \u2013 a staircase descending to self-improvement hell. My nature runs contrary to continual data. After a month, I\u2019d be Forrest Gump-ing it \u2013 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><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2594,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[86,26],"tags":[246,176,74,209,40,55,136,63,54,87,84],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/mom-gene.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/06\/Screen-Shot-2017-06-02-at-2.00.53-PM-e1496431264998.png?fit=767%2C533&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p8ca5p-FN","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2591"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2591"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2591\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2607,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2591\/revisions\/2607"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2594"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2591"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2591"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mom-gene.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2591"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}