Week 26: Fit Mama II

I never got around to signing up for a prenatal yoga class. It seemed like too much on top of the birthing classes and all the home improvements we're working on. So I’ve continued with my regular Tuesday night yoga class, albeit with a few modifications.

For instance, the Cobra is now out of the question, as is any other pose that involves lying on my stomach. So I’ve invented an alternate pose I call Begging Dog. It involves raising myself up on my arms and extending my neck while keeping my knees in contact with the ground. It’s similar to what my dog, Gracie, does when she smells peanut butter and sticks her snout in the air to get a better whiff.

Then there’s the Dead Manatee, where I flop over onto my back and lift my inflated midsection into the air, imitating a large aquatic mammal that’s gone belly up. This is similar but not identical to the Reclining Hippo.

Since I am the only pregnant person in the class, I do feel self-conscious at times. I used to take pride in my Bow Pose and Dancer’s Pose, envisioning myself as the epitome of elegance and grace. Now, not so much. I refrain from grunting if at all possible, but I often cannot stifle the occasional groan or moan when shifting position. And I flop these days more than I flow. True yogis would shudder, I’m certain.

Still, I have to give myself credit for showing up. That I make it off the couch and into the gym these days is pretty amazing in itself. So I’m not my former fit, flexible self. But I can do a pretty mean Lumbering Elephant.

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