Things that don’t go well together…
- Ice cream and radiators.
- Vintage leather armchairs and pens.
- Runny noses and smart work clothes.
And my most recent discovery;
- Two children and yoga.
After doing no exercise for the best part of two years, I finally decided that I had to do something to sort myself out.
I think I’ve lost about three inches in height from carrying around an increasingly heavy 11-month-old in an Ergobaby carrier.
I’ve tried to balance out my posture by carrying the shopping in a rucksack when he’s strapped to my front, but turns out a multi-pack of baked beans, washing powder tablets and a box of wine is actually pretty weighty, and as a consequence I think I’ve crushed about four vertebrae.
With little opportunity to go to a class, I thought I’d attempt a yoga tutorial off YouTube and watch it on the telly.
All my gym clothes (by ‘all’ I mean a pair of bobbly leggings and a T-shirt that came free with a pint of Guinness from a pub), have long since been binned, so the only yogic clothes I own are my pyjamas.
So, I’d lined up ‘yoga for beginners with Yvonne’, dimmed the lights and was sitting cross legged in the front room, when Ben popped his head round the door to say he’s off for a run and would be back in half an hour.
And in scamper the children.
Now, there are certain things you become natural multi-taskers at as mums.
Like making a cup of tea one handed with a child on your hip.
In fact cooking/ putting on make-up/ sending an e-mail/ getting dressed/ loading the washing machine/ unloading the washing machine/ wrapping presents/ putting your coat on, with a child on your hip.
Unfortunately, doing a downward dog, with an 11-month-old holding your hair tightly with both hands, whilst a 3-year-old tries to ride you like a rodeo, is not one of those things.
The yoga teacher told me in her breathy, soft, telephone-sex-worker voice, ‘inhale deeply, and exhale the day’s tensions’, as my daughter shouted loudly in my ear, ‘CAN WE PUT PEPPA PIG ON?’
And as I was instructed to shut my eyes and be 'present in the moment’, I heard the familiar slap of tiny hand on TV screen as my son bobbed up and down excitedly whilst hitting Yvonne in the face.
I was asked to take myself out of by body and view myself from above.
And as I 'looked down', I saw a woman who was wearing dirty pyjamas in the middle of the day, had unknowingly sneezed off her make-up so looked a little like Alice Cooper, and was lying on her back while her son playfully slapped her cheeks and her daughter blew raspberries on her stomach and delightedly declared, ‘it’s so wobbly mummy, it’s like jelly!’
I’m not asking for the world.
Just twenty minutes once in a while to have a quick stretch that 's more involved that getting something from the top shelf in the kitchen.
I’m sure Gwyneth Paltrow never had to put up with this shit.
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