The other day, Proud Mommy talked me into doing this prenatal yoga video (aka watching wrestling) with her. She's done it a few times already, and I had no idea what was going on.
There are all sorts of poses and positions. You bend this way or that way. You stretch your leg or your arm. You squat or lean. All these poses have names you might expect originated from very elaborate origami figures.
I'll admit, I was struggling to keep up at times. Proud Mommy outstretched me left and right. Apparently, Proud Mommy outlistened me as well. Especially when it came to the groin baby.
Yoga instructor Shiva would occasionally mention that we should be caressing our groin babies. And I thought I was! But Proud Mommy kept wondering what I was doing.
Well, I was caressing my groin baby, of course! What do I know? Sure, I never called it my groin baby, but with all this yoga zen chakra wheelbarrow inverted crane technique lingo being tossed around left and right, I was just thankful that I at least recognized two words in a row. Granted, Shiva and the other yoga women were more focused on rubbing their bellies, but I thought they were just doing that to keep the video family friendly. I knew where my groin was, and if Shiva tells me to caress it, who am I to tell her different? There was a definite sense of pride in my one small area of yogic success. Who knew I had been doing yoga all these years?
Unfortunately, my pride in my groin baby technique was short lived. Once the video was over, further discussion with Proud Mommy revealed that what Shiva had been saying all that time was to caress my growing baby. Like the quirk of dialect that has some people pronounce ringer so it rhymes with finger, Shiva's growing rhymes with groin. Not carrying a baby inside me, I think I can be forgiven for the mistake.
I should have known it wasn't really yoga. I mean, who ever heard of yoga making you go blind?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment