I am not a bendy person. Despite many years of dance and martial arts classes, I have and never will be able to do a split. While other girls were extending their legs up by their ears, I was struggling to get mine to 90 degrees. As a result, yoga and I have never been friends. I've tried a couple of different classes, but while everyone else is smiling contentedly and breathing into their poses, I'm huffing and puffing and sweating and shaking as I fight frantically not to topple over. I've never found anything even remotely relaxing about it, so despite how good it's supposed to be for you, I gave up trying.
A little while ago my work friend Maya signed up for a new yoga studio close to our office. She started bugging me about coming to a lunchtime prenatal class with her as a way of using up some of her free guest passes, and after a few weeks of putting her off I finally ran out of excuses. I figured it had been a couple of years since I'd last tortured myself with yoga, so I was due for another round. (Side note: No, Maya is not pregnant, although her partner is currently in the middle of a 2WW after their most recent FET. The prenatal class was just conveniently timed.)
In my limited yoga experience, I'd discovered that the stereotype of the crunchy granola hippie yoga instructor was usually a myth. Not this time. Either that, or the universe had just been saving up.
The teacher started off by introducing herself as a former finance professional who'd given up the rat race to become a naturopathic doctor, yoga teacher, and lactation consultant.
Then she casually mentioned that she was a mom of two, and that she was still breastfeeding her 4 and a half year old daughter.
Look, I think it's really great that there are so many different parenting choices available today, and I plan on trying really hard not to judge others just like I hope they won't judge me when the time comes. But this? Fuck this. I'm totally judging this.
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| Just...no. |
With this horrifying image still fresh in our minds, we started class. And it was actually ok. Tougher than I thought it would be for a prenatal class, but definitely not the worst class I'd ever done. I was even starting to think that I could actually see myself doing it again.
And then we got to the cool-down meditation. Rather than the usual "concentrate on your breath, clear your mind, connect with your baby" relaxation that I was counting on, the instructor walked us through some top-level hypnobirthing earth mother goddess stuff. Amongst other things, we were encouraged to "feel the beauty of each contraction" and envision our cervixes "opening like a flower to the warm rays of the sun". Now, I know I haven't given birth yet, but I've read an awful lot of birth stories and for the life of me I can't remember any of you guys talking about how beautiful your contractions felt. So clearly, you were all doing it wrong. I'm also pretty sure that "cervix opening like a flower" is code for "3rd degree perineal tear", in which case I'll pass.
Either way, at that point I had one eye open scanning the room to see if anyone else was trying as hard as I was not to laugh.
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| Cervix opening like a what now? |
So yeah. I don't yoga so good.
Otherwise, there's not much to report around here. I hit 22 weeks on Friday, and I'm feeling good. Chalupa Batman has begun regular disco sessions in my uterus. And yet we've still made no progress on names, or the nursery, nor have we bought anything or really done a single thing to prepare. Eep.
