Prenatal Yoga - AOMMMM

My mother advised me to take prenatal yoga classes as way to calm my ever so anxious mind down. In other words, she hopes that by bringing some zen into my life I will be less of a bitch.

She claims I was a good baby because she did prenatal yoga throughout her pregnancy. Apparently I slept through the night, rarely ever cried, and had no sickness or colic. I attribute that to the simple fact that I am awesome.

However, my mom says, after the age of three I became a real little turd, picking fights with everyone and just being difficult. I asked her, "So when did that 'turd' phase ended?" and she responded, "I am keeping my fingers crossed. Any day now!"

So here I am, at the yoga studio, with my oversize pillows (you are supposed to bring two), my blocks, and my yoga mat, feeling a little nervous, like it's my first day at school.

I realize quickly and surprised that I am not the fattest lady here. I suddenly feel thin. I am a thin pregnant lady. Yay. These women are about to pop. One of them is due tomorrow and inadvertently my eyes keep darting at her to make sure she is not going through labor or something.

The zen teacher speaks with her zen voice for us all to close our eyes while we seat with our legs crossed. Then she says, "Now we are going to squeeze our Kegel muscles and relax; squeeze and relax... clear your mind..." and I am thinking, "Are you serious? How can I clear my mind when all I can think of is that all of the women in this room are focusing right now in their vagina muscles?"

Then the zen teacher starts with the actual yoga class.

So what is the difference between normal yoga and prenatal yoga?

Nothing, really, except, of course of the Kegel part and the modification of certain poses because of the belly.

The rest is as hard and I have never been a good yogi. So here I am shaking, my sweat dripping on my mat and the teacher says something along the lines of, "Now grab your left foot with your right hand from behind your back..." and I am thinking, looking at the other pregnant ladies, some grabbing their foot effortlessly, others falling to the side like a seal out of the water, "Somebody needs to tell this lady we have a human inside of us."

That's when it downed on me, "We have fifteen pregnant ladies in this room, and fifteen little fetuses, so in reality there are thirty people here right now..."



My ADD mind was off somewhere like this when the teacher asked again that we clear our minds.

But then my baby started hiccuping and I brought my hand to my belly, making a face.

"Anything wrong?" zen teacher asked.

"He is hiccuping," I said, which made some of the ladies giggle.

"Oh, good," zen teacher said, "We want hiccups. We don't want cramps, though."

Should I tell her I do feel cramps?

Anywho, there's something unnatural about the downward dog position when I have an extra three pounds of blood volume rushing to my head and my weak stomach muscles are sipping burning gastric juices in my esophagus. I want to say, "By a raise of hands, who else has heartburn and want to move onto something else?"

The pigeon pose, however, is magical. Zen teacher modifies it by placing blocks under me so I don't squoosh the baby and it hurts so good that I can feel myself getting crossed-eyed under my closed eyelids with pleasure.

By the end of the class we lay sideways, with one pillow between the legs, mimicking preggo pillow.

Zen teacher then places a small lavender smelling cushion over our eyes and I swear I actually dozed off into another dimension, and that's where I got sold.

I am coming back for nothing more than that lavender pillow and that lovely nap.