Whoever invented yoga invented heaven. Literally, metaphorically, and everywhere in between, I suppose. For a second week in a row, I made the evening yoga class. This week, I relaxed a little bit more. I didn’t think quite as much about baby boy as I had the week before, though I did have a moment of panic during relaxation where my mind wandered the to the thought, ” did I park across someone’s driveway? Oh my god, I am sure I did. It seems like something I would do right now” since it was dark when I parked and I couldn’t remember double checking once I got out of the car. (I was parked just fine.)
I’ve missed yoga. I have a spotty history of practice because I don’t do it at home, or at least not more than some poses after a run. I like to have someone there to guide me. I don’t like to think about what comes next. I like to know someone’s going to tell me what to do, and when to do it, so I can just concentrate on doing it, and doing it right. I know that sounds lazy, but I get more out of it that way. And I shouldn’t say I never do yoga at home. When I am on a roll, I get into a groove enough to be able to do simple sequences at home. That, however, feels like a thing of the past now that I have a baby, and one that doesn’t nap during the day.
So, I’ve become a bit rusty. I did yoga up to about 39/40 weeks of pregnancy, but then nothing except a very lax postnatal and baby yoga class in the summer where I spent most of the time nursing. So it’s been 7 months. But, to be honest, I think my body is a bit relieved to be doing it again. It feels good. Except when I try to do certain backbends, as it’s a bit too uncomfortable as I am still nursing. I’ve also learned from my first inverted poses that, well, I’ve got some weak spots still from the pregancy and birth. It’s good. It gives me something to focus on, and makes me feel like I am getting back into my own skin again, and giving myself time to quiet my mind again.