I have been working hard and enthusiastically to tone and shape up my body after pregnancy and birth. Turns out it’s not enough. Circumstantial developments continue to throw new challenges.
I went to hot Hatha yoga class today. Michael was home and could hang with Lake. Some men’s morning time. I’m feeling pretty good. I’m on my own. I’m going to a yoga class. I’ll get to do a whole yoga session. I’ve been doing my homework, my daily yoga practice, my planks. I’m looking good. I’m feeling strong. I’m balancing on one leg and getting good lift out of my core. I may not be at my pre-pregnancy weight, but I’m fitting back into my pre-pregnancy wardrobe and doing great with all the poses.
Then, it turns out I put my yoga mat in the one place where the sun moved from between the curtains to light up my mat. Everyone else seemed to know better and situated their mats further back into the room, or even up against the cool-retaining concrete walls. Not me, I was over by the window. I started out in the shade, but before too long I was in the sun beam. It was super hot. I moved my mat. The sunbeam moved to follow me. It was burning hot. It was at least 10F hotter where I was in the sun compared to the rest of the room. And the room was hot to begin with. It was hot yoga. Hot Hatha yoga. I begin to weep.
Hot yoga. Isn’t the hot of hot yoga enough? Nope. It’s über hot yoga for me! At the end of class my mat is the one mat in the entire room with a beautiful sun beam right smack dab in the middle of it. Filling my mat up with light. And hot heat. My sweat soaked mat. Tears are streaming down my face. My hot red face. My sunshine face. My sweat soaked face. Body. Clothes.
My clothes. So just when I can fit back into all my old jeans and I’m feeling pretty good about myself Life ups the ante. I wished things felt as good on the inside as they are beginning to look and feel on the outside. So, yesterday I went to see a physical therapist who specializes in pelvic floor rehabilitation. Turns out I have a lot of work to do. I have a little bit of every kind of thing wrong with me that a person can have after a long and arduous but ultimately uncomplicated vaginal childbirth. Sprains, strains, tears, scar tissue, laxity and spasms. I feel broken even as I’m having a great physical yoga practice. It’s the mental-emotional component that’s resisting the depth and magnitude of the recovery work. I seriously underestimated the total impact that carrying and birthing our beautiful Lake would have. And I’m completely filled with gratitude to have helped to create and share in his existence. I love you Lake. Alright, let’s do this!