On the Mat

My intention when starting this blog was to not only write about being a mom, a wife, and a homemaker, but also about being a yogini, a teacher, and a student. Often for me, these aspects of myself are tied together, forming a colorful blur of who I am. Sometimes, though, I think it's relevant to address them separately (or at least kind of separately). I plan to post On the Mat with some frequency, the first few posts will share with you some of the early parts of my journey to where I am now. Sometimes the posts will be just about yoga, sometimes they will be about it all. I hope that you will share your thoughts with me.

When I started my yoga practice 12 years ago, I practiced sporadically to videos made by well-known aerobics instructors who were trying to cash in on the newest fitness trend. I practiced in the living room of my shared apartment or my parents' home, on carpet, on a crappy mat, without the appropriate knowledge or tools to have a clue what I was doing. The first class I attended was taught in the wrestling gym on my college campus, by someone who (I'm guessing) took a weekend workshop on "how to instruct an hour of yoga." I went a few times, but really, the classes sucked. Despite the fact that these early practices were a little rough, over the next few years I kept making my way back to the mat. Sure, I tried pilates (also from a video) but it did nothing for me. For several years I worked out in the traditional Western sense - beating myself up at the gym, lifting heavy weights and spending hours on the treadmill, bike, or elliptical. For two years or so, I even became what most would consider a gym rat. Literally, I went to the gym 6 days a week for at least 2-3 hours each day, spending an hour or more doing cardio, another hour lifting weights, and a half an hour stretching. I went to spinning 4 times a week. I ate whatever was convenient and easy, which generally meant Starbucks, pizza, bar food, and ice-cream. My reward after an exam was done or a paper was completed was a whole pizza and a pint (a PINT) of Graeters (best ice-cream EVER...Jeni's didn't exist then) drizzled with Bailey's. Seriously. The things I ate that were healthy, I ate in mass quantities. I felt like crap (I know I know, I was eating crap, but I was still only a size 8 and the heavy workouts weren't doing my body any favors), and though I was definitely strong I was puffy, stiff, swollen and constantly taking NSAIDs for joint pain. I'd never weighed that much in my life, and I felt it. Every so often, though, I would come back to those yoga videos. I'd practice a few days a week to these videos, then decide I needed to burn more calories and set myself off to become a runner or something (I really really wanted to be a runner. I wanted a runner's body, a runner's gait...I wanted a runner's long, lean legs and strong spine...but, no matter how much I ran, I never became a runner. I hate running. Seriously. I can't believe I was on the track team for two years in middle school. My failed attempts at becoming a runner have made me amazed by anyone who runs for more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time and says they like it. Seriously. If you're a runner, I'm amazed by you.)

When I moved home after college and got a "real" job, I was still going to the gym. I was even working out with a trainer. I still felt like crap. My body just ached all the time. And I was still heavy, even though I had lost some weight from drinking less and eating better. I decided to give yoga another shot, a "real" go if you will, and I did some research about yoga studios near where I lived. During my search, I stumbled upon a newer studio where the teachers taught Power Yoga, based on the teachings of Baron Baptiste. I read the teacher bios, thought they sounded like real people, and decided to go one evening after work. I got my cheap mat and my Victoria's Secret yoga pants (yes, even 8 years ago Victoria's Secret was selling yoga pants) and I excitedly made my way to the studio. The Karma Yogi* was super nice....she told me I would love the class, so I should just buy a package of classes, but if I wanted to try it out first and see if it was for me, I could pay after class. This way if I hated it, all I would lose was the drop in fee. So, I made my way into the room and set up my mat, all-in-all feeling pretty good.

That class was probably one of the hardest classes I've ever been to. Not because the poses were super advanced, and not because the sequence was tough, but because I had to deal with me. You can't hide from yourself when you're on your mat.** All the time I spent in the gym working out and that class?? It kicked my ass. I was breathing heavy and sweating like I'd never sweat before***, and I was sure I was going to vomit, or maybe even die (I can be a little dramatic, er, I mean passionate). I even spent the last 15 minutes of that 75 minute class crying. I don't know why, exactly, but it brought up some strong emotions in me that had to get out. Regardless of this experience, I remember floating out of that room after savasana.**** I was definitely buying a class package.

My memory of specifics is a little fuzzy (after all, yoga teaches us to be in the present - not dwelling in the past) but I remember deciding that taking 2 classes a week would be a great compliment to my gym regiment. The thing is, though, I noticed immediately after that first class a huge difference in how I felt after a yoga practice (free, light, and full of life) versus how I felt after a workout at the gym (heavy, exhausted, cranky, hungry, sore). After only a short time (weeks, maybe a month or two), I gave up my time in the gym for more yoga. I was practicing 4 classes each week. I noticed the physical benefits almost instantly, but I was starting to notice a difference in myself off the mat, too. While I wasn't able to specifically define it at the time, I knew I had found something special and I wanted more...(tbc)

*Karma Yogis, or Desk Yogis as they're sometimes called at larger studios, are the people (often volunteers) who help sign people into classes and make purchases of classes or boutique items.
**Just like anything else in life, there are ebbs and flows. As a yogi moves deeper into their practice, they can find ways to hide temporarily. I will delve more into this in a later post.
***Power Vinyasa classes are moderately heated, but even without heat you still work up a healthy sweat.
****Savasana, or Corpse Pose, is a finishing pose for a yoga practice. It is a resting pose.

I Think My Heart Just Broke A Little

Every now and then I think we all need a reminder that life is too short to spend it dwelling on things that really, in the end, aren't so important. Your life will not be better "when..." spend your life living, want what you have, and LOVE whenever you can.

I have a dear friend whom I've known since college. Twice we were roommates in Israel. I was friends with her husband and kinda sorta helped introduce them. I was at her wedding. I love this lady. She's also a rabbi, and a mom to 3 gorgeous little ones. She keeps two fabulous blogs, here and here. Really, you should read her blogs.

Anyway, she recently began posting on Sundays, a SuperIma (Ima is Hebrew for Mom) check-in for us Moms to connect. So I checked her blog late Sunday and, within her post, she shared a link for this lady over here. I don't follow too many blogs. Seriously, I can barely keep up with my own, but something told me to click this time. The woman had been pregnant with twin girls and ended up having an emergency c-section and lost one of the babies. I was sad for her, and thought of her sporadically over the last two days. Out of curiosity, I checked back tonight and found that she has posted the whole story. OH. MY. GOSH.

You should read it. And maybe leave her some love, but at least send her some love through your thoughts. Her entire little family needs it.

I was just saying to my husband tonight that every now and then during the day I wish our little guy, Ari, would just nap a little bit longer so that I could get a yoga practice in, or finish the dishes, or clean the bathroom, or _________(fill in the blank) but then when I put him to bed at night, when I'm sitting on the couch, I often stare at the video monitor (yes, I still use the video monitor for my 9 month old because I'm obsessed with being able to see my baby whenever I want to and know that he's in his bed where I put him) and my heart just swells with love so powerful that I can't even describe it. I listen to him breathe, watch the curve of his little body sometimes rolling around to get comfortable, and I am so overwhelmed by this love that sometimes I think my heart skips a beat or two.

In twenty years (or maybe even in 10) I'm not gonna care if I practiced yoga for 45 minutes or for 90 minutes on a particular day, or if I "forgot" to clean the kitchen floor one week, or if the laundry piles up and I have to stay up a little later to get it done, but I know my life will be better if I got to laugh/snuggle/tickle/love my son a little bit extra here and there. I know I've said something similar in a previous post, but I think we all need reminders. We're still human, even if we are SuperImas, and it can be very easy to get caught up in the day-to-day and forget what really matters.

So, my friends, start your new year by saying a prayer to whoever it is you pray to and thank them for your beautiful life (it is beautiful, after all), kiss your babies/husbands/wives/partners/pets/loves, and send a little virtual love on over to Jen. She and her family could really use all the love they can get right now.

B'Sha'ah Tovah

In the secular world, when a woman announces that she's expecting a baby, others wish her hearty congratulations, and share in the excitement - often throwing multiple baby showers, asking about names, and wondering about the gender of the growing bundle of joy. In the Jewish world, moreso in the religious sect but nearly always amongst the traditionalists, we wish the woman and her husband B'Sha'ah Tovah.

B'Sha'ah Tovah is a wish for the parents-to-be that the baby is born in a favorable hour for the baby and the mother. This is not the same as wishing them Mazel Tov, which is a wish of congratulations.

According to Jewish law, although the human soul exists before the baby is born, human life actually begins at birth, when the baby is more than halfway out of the mother's body. There are many superstitions that reflect this: we typically do not utter the baby's name before the post birth ceremonies*, we don't have baby showers until after the baby is born (though some people, like myself, have them late in pregnancy when - if born - the baby would be viable in the outside world), many do not find out the gender of their child through ultrasound (though I think this is also shifting). For some, they don't even talk about the baby much.

When I was pregnant, I talked about my little guy all the time, I accepted all good wishes with gratitude, because every baby is a miracle, after all, and I knew that every positive prayer was in his favor. Just over 3 weeks before his due date, however, I had an ultrasound that showed something less than favorable. I have Lupus, so I was considered "high risk" despite my overall health and my age. Being considered high risk, I had probably close to 20 ultrasounds (maybe more) during my pregnancy, and the 37 week ultrasound indicated that maybe my little guy had stopped growing (what?! With as much as I was eating and gaining?? We wondered how that was even possible.). Based on the previous measurement, it appeared he had gained a mere 5 ounces in 3 weeks. He should have gained much closer in the range of 12 ounces to 1 pound. Panic ensued, and I was given the option to check in to the hospital in two days, having the little man by Friday evening, or wait the weekend out and come in on Monday for another ultrasound and round of Non-Stress-Tests (NSTs). I was warned, however, that since we would be going over the weekend they wouldn't be able to monitor me for 2 days, and therefore we'd have no way of measuring his health outside of my kick counts until Monday morning.

My husband and I consulted his father, who happens to be a high risk OB/GYN. He felt that, at 37 weeks with all other indications the baby was healthy, that we should check in and get induced. So, we told very few people, made sure we had some food in the fridge, dropped the dog off with my parents, I went and got a manicure and a pedicure (hey, a girl's gotta feel pretty - even if she's 47 pounds heavier than normal and swollen from head to toe from being an incubator for 9 months), and we made our way to the hospital.

Being induced is rough. I was in labor for nearly 22 hours. Despite the fact that I had practiced yoga up through the end, and despite the fact that I felt like he was going to fall out of me when I walked, er, waddled, my little guy did NOT want to leave his cozy jacuzzi in my belly. I can't say I blame him, really...we were evicting him at least 3 weeks early**. Post birth, my body was a wreck, though I'll spare you the gory details. My baby was teeny (not nearly as teeny as they thought he was - in fact, he was a full 8 ounces larger than what had been projected just 3 days earlier) and his beautiful face was bruised from being stuck in the birth canal. After a scare in the hours after his birth (the nurses thought he wasn't getting oxygen because his face was blue, but it turned out to be the aforementioned bruising), we were in a state of new-parent-bliss.

Once the excitement died down, after the emails slowed, and in the week following his bris, I became really sad. I cried on his due date. Not because I was sad about my baby, but because I felt like I had robbed him of more time in the womb. More time to grow, to connect with me, to prepare for this bright, cold world. We found out that nothing had been wrong with my placenta at all, the measurements - which are subject to human error - were just off. I felt like I had failed at my first task as his mother: I let him be literally yanked into the world before he was really ready. I wondered how I could believe that everything happens for a reason, when the reason my baby was born 3 weeks early turned out to not be a reason at all.

I have amazing doctors. I know this, I am ever so grateful for them, and I trust them, which is why I followed their advice. But I still feel a twinge of sadness every now and then when my son is a bit behind other babies his age***, or when I look at his head which still misshapen from the suction used to get him unstuck, and I wonder if forcing my body into giving birth before my baby or my body were ready was really the best thing for us. At these times, I remind myself that I have a healthy, very happy, and gorgeously fat little boy, and that there are a lot of people who would trade places with me in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity.


I don't really think anything would have been wrong with waiting another week or even 2 to see if he decided to come out on his own, but I know that a lot can happen in two weeks, and for whatever reason, by Gd's hand this guy was meant to arrive here when he did. We have no idea what would have happened had we waited, and this is why we say B'Sha'ah Tovah. The reasons aren't always clear, but I understand the purpose so much more.

*Baby boys have a brit milah/bris, a ceremonial circumcision performed by a mohel, a person in the Jewish community who is trained appropriately (by Jewish law and, at least in the US, by medical standards). They receive their names at this time. Baby girls are given a ceremonial naming. Both are often done in conjunction with a large celebration.
**In the medical community, a generous 2 weeks past the projected due date is allowed for a "healthy" mom to carry her baby before medical intervention, meaning my son could have been born 5 weeks from when I actually gave birth.
***This is typical for babies born early, they are often behind developmentally in however many weeks they were early. Often they catch up pretty quickly, and for the most part, my son has as well.

One Week

One week from today, my beautiful baby boy will be six months old.

Six months old?! Already?!

But only yesterday he looked like this...

A tiny, skinny, wrinkly, absolutely perfect little creature that I created, carried, and brought into this world.

The day he was born, my mother-in-law visited me in the hospital and told me I would blink and we'd be celebrating his first birthday. I couldn't imagine that time would fly that fast, and yet we're thisclose to the half-year milestone, which means that next Monday my tiny little 6 pound baby will be closer to being a big one year boy old than he will be to being my tiny, little, firstborn, brand new baby.

See?! TINY!

Gd willing, this boy will someday have siblings, which means he'll be the only of our children to ever be an only child. If we are blessed with more of these precious bundles, they will have an older (or maybe even a few older) sibling running around. A sibling who will make messes, make noise, and most of all will demand my attention. The luxuries of being the firstborn can only be experienced by one...not only is everything new (not the "stuff," as that isn't nearly as important,though, for many first-time parents today, the "stuff" is all new too)...but Mommy and Daddy (and grandmas and grandpas) can give their attention to baby with very few distractions. Their world suddenly revolves around this one, tiny, brand new baby.

The truth is, of course, that six months old is not old - not by any stretch of the imagination. Six months old is still a baby. Six months old is still completely 100% dependent on Mommy for survival. My son hasn't even eaten solid food yet! But six months is a pretty big milestone.

Yoga teaches us to live in the moment. It's not always easy, and of course it doesn't mean that we will never think of the future or of the past, but it does help us to be present and truly experience our experiences. I know I have more time with his babyhood, but it is going fast. I glow with adoration, pride, and excitement each time he learns something new or discovers he can do something that he didn't realize he could do by himself. I love every second, even when I'm silently wishing he would sleep just a little longer so that I could be more rested. I am incredibly blessed to have the choice to stay home with my son, which means that chances are very high that I will be the one who is around when my son experiences his firsts. Knowing that so many will be coming very soon and very fast, this week I will take a little extra time to enjoy the sweet, milky baby breath that has already started to fade (despite the fact that he hasn't eaten solid food yet), I will give extra kisses to the velvety soft folds of baby rolls that have yet to be bruised or scratched or banged by this small someone learning to move on his own, and I will revel in the fact that this beautiful growing boy is my creation, a huge miracle that I was blessed by Gd to be a part of.

And I know that this boy, no matter what size or age, will always bring me joy, as long as I remember to be grateful for each moment in time.

Stories

Two weeks ago, while driving back from our mini-vacation in Ocean City, MD, I (out of nowhere, I might add) just decided that I was a horrible blogger. I hadn't posted in over a week, and my previous post hadn't garnered much attention. Forget about the fact that I had only recently become a blogger;

or the fact that I'm a first-time mom who's still adjusting.

As far as I was concerned, those details were irrelevant. And this was the thought that began one very long thought that listed all of things that I felt inadequate about in my life, past and present time.

Then I realized I was doing "it" again. I was stuck in a story, playing and replaying a sadly familiar tape in my mind. A tape that detailed all of the ways I felt I didn't measure up, based on judgments and nonsensical standards set by society or even by friends or family. I forget the exact statistic, but I believe that something like 90% of our thoughts are the exact same thoughts every day. So when we get stuck in these stories we are essentially beating ourselves up, over and over, day after day, just like a bully.

Sometimes we don't even realize we're in a story. Because of the frequency with which we "hear" them, we often don't even recognize they're going on again. They just manifest in our bodies as tightness, discomfort and dis-ease.

Furthermore, the stories don't always appear to be negative. Sometimes, we even think they're positive - almost like affirmations.

"I am so much skinnier than she is."
"I lost the baby weight a lot faster than my sister."
"I drive a much nicer car than that guy."
"My yoga practice is so much stronger than his."

The thing is that even these types of thoughts have a negative effect on us. You have no idea who you're really comparing yourself to - the woman you're skinnier than may have struggled with an eating disorder and is healthier when she's eating more; your sister may be suffering from postpartum depression and might have a hard time just taking a shower every day, let alone losing the weight she gained pregnant; the guy with the not-as-nice-as-yours car might be saving for his children's college education; and the guy who's yoga practice isn't so strong may be recovering from an injury. The bottom line is, at the end of the day, if we spend our lives comparing ourselves to everyone else, we'll never measure up, because we'll subconsciously set our standards based on our own outward perceptions of those around us.

Learning to quiet the mind, and therefore quiet down these stories (or sometimes even shut them up, when we're lucky) is one of the greatest gifts of a regular asana* practice. This isn't to say that as soon as you start a regular practice you'll never hear them again, or that new stories will never sneak up on you...however, through a regular asana* practice we learn how to acknowledge them and then release them to the Universe. The freedom you find when suddenly your bully isn't bullying you anymore cannot truly be understood until it is felt. Sometimes it's as simple as sitting in stillness (meditation) and making the decision to turn them off; oftentimes we need to be wrung out, physically exhausted from a rigorous asana practice, and reminded over and over again. Either way, it's not easy...but in the end, a life of freedom from this negative energy is well worth the investment.

As for my tapes, ultimately, I reminded myself that I am a new mom, and that I am dedicated to my son. A few days after we got home, I also took an amazing 2 hour class that focused on opening the hips, one of the favorite spots for our bodies to harness dis-ease. So, if my blog suffers a lack of my attention at times, I can live with that. In 20 years I'm not going to look back on this time and wish that I had blogged more.

I will, however, be grateful that I knew enough to spend an extra 20 minutes snuggling with my son.

*Asana is a reference to the physical postures in a yoga practice.

Taking a Break

In sticking with this week's theme, part of accepting where we are is knowing when to take a break. This week, I've been ON. Determined to honor my commitment to myself and to my son (Happy Mommy means Happy Baby, right?), I have made more effort to reestablish my daily yoga practice.

Saturday I taught, and I made it to the studio later for a practice. Sunday I made it to the studio to practice. Monday I managed a 30 minute home practice AND taught at the studio. Tuesday, after a VERY taxing day of Being a Mom, I completed Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred AND managed a 30 minute home practice, all after 10:30 p.m. when the baby finally fell asleep.

Tuesday night was challenging. I had trouble falling asleep, my brain just wouldn't turn off. The baby woke at 2:15 a.m. to eat and snuggle - a mere 45 minutes or so after I'd finally fallen asleep. Groggily, I went to him, and didn't make it back to bed until after 3. He woke again around 7:15 a.m. I could barely move. This kind of night has been rare for us, since the baby was 6 weeks old he's generally slept through the night for at least 7 hour stretches, but usually 8 or 9. Last week, after he received his 4 month shots, he woke every night at least once. The previous week we visited my grandmother for 5 days, and he woke every night at least once. I know this type of sleeping pattern is "standard" for most moms of babies the same age as my son, but 3 weeks of this and

I'm starting to run out of steam.

It's like those early days/weeks for me, except without the new baby euphoria to keep me going. Wednesday I had full intentions of continuing this way, even if for only 30 minutes (30 minutes is, after all, more than nothing). That morning we were both exhausted from the restless night, and took a long nap. He woke for a few hours, to eat and play, and then took another long nap while I visited with my brother. He slept more during the day than he has in several weeks. So Wednesday night, after cleaning up the kitchen, making banana muffins, putting the baby to bed, noticing I had a bit of a sore throat, and wondering for a brief moment - as I sometimes do - why nursing has to be so draining on the mother's body (after all, wouldn't it make more sense to energize the mother so she would be better equipt to care for her infant?) I took a cue from my son. Instead of beginning my workout and my yoga practice at 10:30 p.m. like the night before, I decided to take a break. Recharge my batteries.

So instead of a yoga practice, I had two of my fresh baked muffins, a big glass of soy milk, and a short meditation before bed.

In the corner of my mind, I couldn't help but decide that I definitely needed to practice on Thursday, and maybe even complete Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred again. After all, a plan isn't a bad thing to have, as long as we're open to life not exactly unfolding as we plan.

Acceptance

Through a regular yoga practice, we learn to accept what is - where we are in our career, our relationships, our asana* practice, our life...This is not to suggest that with a regular yoga practice we accept everything in our lives without question, or that everything is suddenly easy, but we do learn that the more that we allow ourselves to be 'okay' with our current situation, the sooner we are able to change the things we want to change. This is incredibly powerful, but also deeply humbling.

When we choose to accept our current circumstances, we are no longer able to blame outside sources for those circumstances. We must take ownership of the good and the bad in our lives.

When I got pregnant, I was in a great place in my life. I also had a plan. I knew I was going to eat healthfully, practice yoga every day, and get plenty of rest. Unfortunately, I made this plan without knowing what it was like to be pregnant. First, I was absolutely starving, and eating was the only way I could keep nausea at bay. I ate so much and so often that my face hurt. And vegetables? They pretty much left my plate. I was on a carbohydrate overload. Second, I started getting nauseous during my practice, and my body started doing weird things - my shoulders were slipping during chatarunga**, I had stabbing pains in my belly during twists...I still craved asana physically and mentally, but I needed to back off. My plan was not exactly going as, um, planned.

Although it wasn't always easy, I lived my pregnant life for my baby. If I was hungry, I ate (even when I wanted pizza two meals in a row!). If I was exhausted, I didn't have a yoga practice. I gained a LOT of weight. I listened to my body, I accepted my circumstances. I gave birth to a healthy, happy baby boy on March 26th.

My "back to normal" plan isn't quite going as planned either. I was sure that by 4 months postpartum I'd be back to my daily asana practice, back to my regular eating habits and back in my jeans. So far, I've been lucky to get 3 or 4 practices in each week, I generally eat whatever is quickest to prepare, and I still have around 13 pounds to lose. I realize more and more that while it's sometimes necessary to have a plan, we also have to be open to the journey. Life happens, and not always how we imagine it will. However, dwelling on the things we consider to be wrong or bad only steals our energy, and often prevents us from seeing the beauty and the good in our life. Being a mom is not always easy, and sometimes all I really want is to take a shower/get a studio practice/have a nap, but I know that being a mom is the most important thing I'll ever do.

I have a new normal now. I'm taking it one day at a time, and I wouldn't change a thing.

Besides, how could anyone complain about waking up to this face every day?

"The curious paradox is that when I accept myself [my circumstances] just as I am, then I can change."
Philosopher Carl Rogers

*Asana is the physical practice of yoga. Each posture is referred to as an asana.
**Chatarunga is low pushup.