Yesterday I surveyed the field of unexpected obligations suddenly stretching between me and my YogaMamaMe website and declared myself okay. Getting published, I realized, had become too much of a goal, and I should feel deep gratitude to the Universe for throwing a bunch of other things at me as a reminder that I don't call the shots. Best to slow down, enjoy the journey, and appreciate what it brings to me, I reasoned.
Which is all well and good. But today life got in the way of my yoga class.
In theory, nothing has changed. I thought I had reworked my priorities so as to regain some modicum of control over my life and my career. Just to show me there is no such thing as control over one's life and one's career, the Universe threw me a few more curveballs, just in time for the start of the baseball season.
No sooner had I put the finishing touches on my blog posts than I got the dreaded call from Jake's school. "You don't have to come for him," the caregiver said immediately. Was I usually so churlish when I heard her voice? "I just thought you ought to know that Jake's not feeling well at all." She proceeded to describe a boy lying on his cot, thumb in mouth, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Not my boy at all.
So, once again, I gathered myself together and tried to salvage something of the rest of my day before the rest of my day became all about Jake. Before I had left the house, another call came. "His temperature is 102.7," she informed me. Just to ratchet up the stress level.
It's actually perfectly okay with me to spend an afternoon snuggling on the couch with my boy, especially after the doctor had assured me he was not suffering from a violent and potentially fatal reaction to his inoculations. The baby Tylenol he loves so well worked rapidly, rendering him able to hit me in the face and show me his bellybutton while I was still talking to the doctor.
I was even prepared to share the bed with him last night. I got kicked a bunch of times and, between his coughs and mine, hardly registered any sleep. But when I'm prepared for such a night my patience is remarkable, my determination not to yell angrily, "Jake! Go to sleep and stop poking Mommy in the eye!" unshakable. I greeted the morning tired but saved from the self-flagellation mode where I moan about how good mothers never yell at their children, no matter how tired they are.
But where would be the practice of life if it were this easy to adjust to a change in plans?
The challenge, you see, is that by North Carolina law, a child must be (I can hear the caregiver repeating it stubbornly to me last time I tried to look for a loophole) "fever free for 24 hours" before he can go back to school. "See you Wednesday!" she said cheerily when I carried my fevered boy to the car yesterday.
I have come to grips with the fact that I am simply not built to hang out with a toddler all day. I find myself wondering how anyone can spend an entire morning watching her 15-month-old stack alphabet blocks with constant glances up to make sure Mommy is watching instead of reading the paper. I consider the possibility that most toddlers are perfectly content to sit in a corner with their parking garage and entertain themselves, that Jake is the unfortunate exception. I decide the real problem is that I don't have ten other toddlers playing in my living room to help entertain Jake without me.
I hate admitting that I don't have the ability to stay home with my child and stay sane at the same time. It is hard for me to start my day when it is 22 degrees outside and thus too cold to entertain a 15-month-old boy anywhere but within the confines of our suddenly shrinking home. We had breakfast. We said goodbye to Daddy. We sat on his new potty seat. We pulled books off the shelves in his bedroom, sat in Mommy's lap for the first page, and then departed to pull down more books he wasn't interested in hearing me read. We danced to Bare Naked Ladies. And, finally, it was nap time.
So, okay, I weathered it, and I took the opportunity to remind myself as often as I had to that this time with Jake was a gift. I didn't worry about the work not getting done, the Mommy time denied, the fact that my chest feels like someone stuck an empty beer keg in it during the night. (If you could hear my coughs you'd stop looking puzzled and think, "Yep, beer keg.")
But before I give myself the big Pat on the Back Award for Grace, did I mention that I can not go to yoga class today? Might I point to my last couple of blogs pointing out that I did not go to yoga class yesterday? Or the day before?
Three days without yoga. No class to go to tomorrow. Work that at some point will demand priority over yoga class. A friend visiting all weekend. Do you see my grace crumbling?
Practice Is Always a Challenge
You will never, ever meet a person who can perform every yoga pose. You will never, ever be able to perform them all yourself.
For example, my fear of falling over in sirsasana, headstand, is formidable, even four years after I became able to do it without a wall. I have yet to figure out how to keep my knees from crashing into my arms when I try to jump through from adho mukha svanasana (downward facing dog) to sitting. And the ability to balance will always, always be a rare gift that comes and goes.
But that's the fun and the beauty of a yoga practice. There's always something new to discover. My hips are ridiculously flexible, thanks, I'm convinced, to years of doing my homework crossed-legged on the floor in front of the television. But they get even more flexible with every eka pada rajakapotasana (that's pigeon pose and a good reason to give up on the sanskrit names).
In short, every yoga practice is a chance to grow. And, dare, I say it, every day of life is as well.
Part of me resists the notion that my relative grace yesterday -- or at least my attempt to act graceful in this blog -- earned me the deeper challenge of today. I certainly don't believe the Universe was sitting around watching me deal with something as minor as a doctor's appointment and a legal project getting in the way of my assuredly imminent publication and decided, "Hey, if she can handle that, let's see what she does when she has to take a whole day off and miss yoga class."
The Universe does not make things happen to us. They just happen. And we make our choices.
Today, I have chosen to view the sudden change of events as a challenge and a chance to learn more about myself. I have chosen not to view it as proof that nothing interesting will ever happen in my life again now that I am a mother. (Although, choice or no, there have been moments when those have been my thoughts exactly.)
Any moment, Jake will awaken from his nap, I will turn from my computer, and I will go have fun with him. I'm thinking maybe Health Adventure, where for the first time I can watch him toddle in the toddler room instead of crawl.
Hanumanasana (Forward Splits): The Challenge Is to Have Fun
In the spirit of Jack at Health Adventure, I'm going to propose you approach this or any asana you practice today with a sense of play. See if it doesn't become a little bit less challenging.
Hanumanasana, if I'm being honest, has never felt the least bit playful to me. Perhaps because it is a pose that, shall we say, offers much for me to explore.
* Hanuman is often referred to as the Monkey God. He is a playful entity, and this pose is designed to emulate him as he leaps across rivers and mountains. Try to have the same spirit of adventure as you approach it.
1) Stand in a straddle position, feet wide apart, but not too wide to support yourself.
2) Turn your torso to face over your right leg. Turn your feet to face the same direction as your face.
3) Bend both knees and reach your hands to the floor. As your back knee reaches the floor, you will find yourself in a lunge position.
4) Slowly, remembering to have fun, start walking your front (right) foot forward, working your way to splits.
5) Some people will reach the floor, both legs straight. They may reach their hands toward the sky -- not in a position of triumph over those of us who will never know how it feels, but to further explore the pose.
6) The rest of us will explore by finding our edge -- a place where we experience some discomfort, but not pain. To avoid the pain, use blankets, blocks, or anything else you need to support yourself.
7) And here's the challenge. Let go of the notion that this is the last thing you want to be doing right now, and embrace it. Discover new things about your body and about yourself. You might even decide to make it part of your regular practice. If you like a challenge.
No comments:
Post a Comment