are you calling me an elephant? / return to yoga class

On Wednesday morning, I reminded Mr. Hubby that he needed to tell his supervisor at work that he'd be taking a half-day's vacation next Thursday so he could go to my 18-week prenatal appointment with me.

"Oh, she's at home on bed rest, problems with blood-pressure I think".

I know that his supervisor is pregnant, but don't know how soon she's due: "That bites - how far along is she?"

"Um . . . I dunno . . . like 45 to 48 weeks?"

I grabbed the nearest door frame for support - my sweet, good-natured, talks-to-my-belly Mr. Hubby doesn't know how long human gestation takes? "Honey, that's impossible - most people give birth by 40 or 41 weeks . . . do you know how far along I am?

"15 weeks?"

I was relieved that he was close, but a little ticked off that he didn't know: "Nooooo, that was two weeks ago - besides, I have week numbers written on our dry-erase calender!"

"I wondered what that was all about . . ."

* ~ * ~ * (Elephant gestation takes 22 months) * ~ * ~ *

I planned on attending a water-aerobics class after work yesterday but left my towel and bathing suit on a table in my garage . . . oh garage, I used to sit in you all the time drinking vodka-ed generic lemon-lime soda and playing cards or darts . . . but I digress.

I mustered up the nutz to go back to prenatal yoga, and got there early enough to talk to a childbirth educator about the best way to bring Mr. Hubby up to speed; she had a good-natured laugh about it and reminded me how abstract all of this is for someone who isn't experiencing any symptoms, and that between watching me change shape and taking the childbirth class with me he'd be in great shape by "birth" day.

1) Thank goodness Mr. Hubby isn't the only pre-daddy goober on the block.

2) Hey waitaminute . . . I have changed shape already . . . these inflata-boobies and pooch belly are new - do I need to carry a "before" picture?

While I was gently mocking my husband, the yoga instructor arrived with her three-month-old boy - and she seemed genuinely amused with my ranting request for emotional support. . . did I detect a spark of snark in her also?? I told her that I enjoyed my first class, was surprised at how inflexible I was, and that my previous forms of exercise have been roller derby, water aerobics, and (years ago) martial arts - so I was having a little trouble getting use to being quiet and still as a form of exercise. Then I bit the bullet: "And I wanted to apologize for acting like a smart ass, I shouldn't have been disruptive like that".

Her face went blank.
Crap.
"Wha . . . OH - you were fine, I encourage a sense of humor in class".

The heavens opened and it became clear that I was going to get along with this dreadlocked peacefulmama after all.

Perhaps to humor me, I did not hear the phrase "heart light" during yesterday's class, instead she said "let your chest shine out" during an appropriate pose. Also? No "I'm surrounded by strong women" affirmations - in fact the talkey-break in class was about making me sit down for a while 'cause I looked (and felt) like I was going to faint. Followed by a speech (directed at me) about yoga not being a competitive sport, and that especially while pregnant it is important to respect your body's boundaries.

Normally? I would have been sad or ticked off to be singled out.
Perhaps it was the light-headedness, perhaps it was the endorphins, but I didn't care. I sat there like a bewildered child and just took it in.

After the rest of class had cleared out, she apologized to me for singling me out like that, and said that another new participant also needed to hear that information, but she didn't want to potentially embarrass her by getting direct with her. AND she went on to say that she had fallen victim to her own stubborn over-achiever streak and injured herself while pregnant because she didn't honor her own limitations. As if I wasn't already feeling 100% better about everything, she timidly asked me to keep an eye on her baby for a while so she could use the bathroom before driving home.

And now to convince you that I haven't already morphed into a kumbaya-singing mess-o-horomones, I'd like to call attention to a fantastic comment I received from Min yesterday:

I think the next time your Yoga instructor says "I am surrounded by strong women" you should respond with "knock the b*tch down". I would think that would be very therapeutic.

I think I've found my birthing phrase folks - most people choose something along the lines of "ohm", "peace", or "I trust my body".
My most likely candidate at this point is.
"knock the bitch down"

Thank you, Min!

I hope my doula understands.