I made a commitment to Yoga yesterday. Not just an inner dialogue about how I should go more often, but an actual, financial commitment and membership to keep me going and motivated. With the ups and downs of Motherhood and raising two boys, I have often felt like I need to go running, screaming down the street or occasionally, am struck by the desire to pull out my own hair. It's not just about wanting the pre-baby body back. I want that. I do. However, the more pressing issue is that of having a physical and emotional outlet for those difficult weeks and the ability to stay calm within them. So, I started, as any sane, self-respecting not-at-all-yogi-like person would do: With a tough class, meant to "challenge" me. I figured I could always modify or rest if it got too intense. There was modifying, there was resting, and there were a couple of not-so-under-my-breath sarcastic moments of "Yeah, right!" I knew I might be in trouble when, by the end of the class, my arms would literally not support me anymore- despite all will and breath, my arms would not, could not support me. I felt amazing until I got home. I walked into the kitchen to wash my hands, looked out the kitchen window and saw a giant blue tarp strung across the neighbors backyard: about 12 feet high, like a curtain spanning the entire width of their yard and most of ours. The jarring blue tarp was the final straw for me. We have put up with this neighbor's constant construction, and even worse, pile of junk, that rises higher and higher and higher, sabotaging any type of calm and serenity we could create in our backyard. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I had JUST come from yoga class, and walked over to confront the neighbor. Luckily, the neighbor assured me that it was just for the night- they would be having a party for their oldest son. Great. I walked back to our house knowing we would be putting up with some extra loud, Mexican folk/techno/R&B music til the wee hours. That's ok with me. I like to think that when we have OUR raging parties with the extra loud...When you're happy and you know it/Itsy Bitsy Spider Music, that the neighbors won't complain either. Because let's face it, the only raging parties we've had in our backyard of late, have pretty much involved screaming toddlers, collapsing bounce houses, and photo shoots with Elmo (luckily no children were harmed in the process). But, I like to keep my options open. So, did the yoga help? Not yet. I found myself wound back up to "crazed" within a mere moments of being back home, but I'm hopeful.
I woke up this morning with some knowledge that I would probably be sore, and decided to attack it head-on with another morning yoga class. This time I took a much less "challenging" level class, but it was still an amazing workout. I really liked this teacher and felt that I got a lot out of her class, but I am so sore I can barely lift Elijah. Yes, Elijah...the one who barely gains any weight...can't lift him. I'm that sore. When I got back home, I decided naps for everyone (myself included) then something fun- we'd go to the park in the afternoon. I should have know that trying to get my 3 year old to take a nap, or even just be quiet in his room on a day where I actually really needed to rest myself, was a recipe for yoga-implosion. I'll just say that there was yelling: from Christian, from me...back and forth...in between trying to rest and trying to make sure Elijah didn't get woken up. Am I painting the picture of peaceful yet? I didn't think so. So...this yoga thing is clearly going to take awhile to kick in. Meanwhile, maybe I'll get my pre-baby body back while I'm attempting to use yoga as a coping method.
After "naps"....we did make it to the park. It was great to get out in the fresh air, with both boys, and just let them be.
I put Elijah into a swing, and Christian insisted that he swing next to Elijah. Remember how I can barely lift Elijah? Well, Christian can't get into the "baby" swing by himself, so I somehow manage to lift him high enough to swing his legs in...only he seemed to go "dead fish" and was not cooperating at all to get his feet into the holes. I'm tensely