Loose Change

You wish your Amana Hamana was as good as mine.

No, I don't even know if that is one of Bikram's words, but it sounds close enough and let's face it, you're jealous of anything I can do in 105 degree room, especially if I burned calories while doing it.

Frank made sure everyone knew that they did not live up to the spiritually aware and completely lithe new mother in the class, "Jeanette had a baby this morning and she isn't lying on her towel."

People groaned.

I moved deeper into the bendy stretchy thing that will eventually make my ass compel you to throw your loose change at it to see if it bounces back. I focused in the mirror to the point of sheer balance, something new to my typically wobbly self.

I allowed my focus to drift to my wrinkle-free forehead and for a brief second wondered if it possible that Botox had improved my practice. Where I'd typically be grunting and staring at the wrinkles while Frank would tell me to relax my face, I can no longer emote, thereby allowing my brain to only focus on the writhing pain instead of what my face is doing in response to the writhing pain.

Interesting.

I kicked my leg back so hard that it came over my head while I balanced on one leg. For the entire sixty seconds that Frank told everyone, "Kick harder. Kick until you can balance there forever." I did. Frank stared at me while I stared at myself in the mirror and came out of the pose, "Damn, mama."

I curtsied.

There was some snickering.

I worked through each pose with intent, forcing my mind blank, forcing my body to obey.

I even did Camel.

Twice.

Again and again Frank would bring up my practice, "You look amazing, Jeanette," and "She just had a baby!"

Frank sidled up to me as we were doing our final savasana, "I am so proud of you. You killed it." He then addressed the rest of the room, "She just came back to yoga after having a baby and she didn't bitch about how hot it was in the room. She didn't lie there and complain about Scoliosis or a cramp in her leg and her form was incredible."

I reminded myself to always come to Frank's class and then wondered how many women would surround me in the locker room to ask me how I do it, how old my daughter was and if I could share my secret for inner spiritual peace and physicality.

Not one of those ungrateful bitches said a word.

I found Mr. J on the floor with Livi when I got home and sputtered on and on about the best yoga class I've ever had, how strong I am, Frank's compliments and how I need yoga.

"You sound really happy."

"I am. I was."

"That's great, Little. You should definitely keep up the classes."

I agreed.

You see, what the rest of the yogis didn't know is that I'm kind of a disaster. I needed Frank's compliments. I needed to be bragged upon, to work so hard that I had nothing left, to empty my brain and sweat until my skin was the color of cranberries. Mostly because I'm trying to figure out how the hell to balance being a new mom and a career girl and this shit is hard. My body doesn't cooperate, my brain is still trying to bridge the gap between nurture and revenue goals and I have to remember to stay awake long enough to talk to Mr. J about something more than teething. My hair is rarely dried using actual tools. I haven't had a manicure in three months and I rarely remember where it is I'm going while I'm driving my car. I often walk into rooms and then stare at each piece of furniture, item of clothing littering the floor and dog hair tumbleweed blowing past to try and jog my memory as to why it is I went into the room with purpose in the first place.

I'm addled, befuddled and somedays completely lost, finding solace and clear-headedness only on Saturdays when Livi and I spend the day together. We have breakfast, we go to Gymboree and I make googledy faces at her while I push her stroller around the mall and ignore the families dodging and jumping away from my wheels since I don't have time to pay attention to them.

Then Sundays come and I have to run errands so I can wear clean clothes to work.

Something that's apparently still important.

I think Frank and I will keep our yoga dates and I'd like to believe I will sweat out my confusion. Maybe the haze will melt from my brain and stay on the fogged up windows and stinky carpet in the classroom. Maybe he will keep the compliments coming and my body will become a force to be reckoned with...

Get your quarters ready.