The three of us went up to yoga this morning for a postnatal “mom and baby” type class. That’s a trick. We looked really cute, all matching with light blue shirts and black yoga pants. Michael dropped us off and went to the neighboring catopia café while we commenced to lubricate our aching joints. “Motion is lotion” Darshana, my rockstar physical therapist said at our last appointment.
Lake was content for about 85% of the class. That left 15% discontent. The 15% loomed large though, especially considering it came near the end. By the end I was breastfeeding him in Shivasana.
These days he’s still sleeping through the night eight hours, which I’m incredibly thankful for. Then he has a near constant appetite while he’s awake. And he’s appreciative of attention and play. None of these attributes are particularly conducive to synchronized mom-baby yoga. It seems to work better if I go to adult yoga class after he’s had a good meal and I can leave him to have some quality daddy downtime. He really doesn’t need a class to get his yoga on. He’s a relaxation expert, stretching constantly, holds no grudges, very flexible. He’s a born yogi.