the yoga of getting to mom-and-baby yoga class

It’s 10:30 a.m. Class is at 11:15.

You need to eat something (you’re starving), dress the baby, dress yourself, stock the diaper bag, put the baby in the car seat, and get out the door.

And it’s going to rain.

The baby is crying. You put him in the vibrating bouncy seat which doesn’t vibrate because you are out of C batteries. Baby is crying but you need food so you get tuna and crackers from kitchen and then sit on floor eating them with one hand while bouncing temporarily entertained baby with the other.

Now it’s 10:45. He’s crying. You change his diaper, twice. Put clothes on him. Put on new “newborn” size fleece thingy from baby gap that is three times his size. He’s still crying. You put him back in bouncy seat and get dressed. Sort of. Baggy t-shirt (husband’s), running pants so old they should have a plaque, sweatshirt.

Baby is still crying. Wailing. You cry with him (if you can’t beat ’em…). Get him in seat, cover with two blankets, in lieu of oversized fleece bag thing, get out door.

It’s FREEZING outside and going to rain.

Several times during this whole process you doubt whether it’s worth it. Screw yoga. Just stay home. He’s hungry. Stick a boob in his mouth. Why are you doing this to both of you? But some other part of you insists. It can’t be as bad as it seems. You’ll feed him as soon as you get to class. Everyone tells you mom-and-baby yoga is at least 50% nursing anyway. Even if all you do is show up in your yoga clothes and nurse for an hour and a half, that’s something. Forward movement. Good practice. Something.

You go back in the house. Jacket, need a jacket. You grab a faux fireman’s raincoat and wonder briefly how the baby is going to stay dry. Maybe you’ll throw raincoat over baby seat on the way back. Clouds are gray, thick. Wind is whipping you both as you toddle down the 36 stairs to the street, get baby seat in car. Get you in car. Get going.

It’s 11:02. Baby stops crying en route. Phew.

You actually arrive to class on time. You park car, put seat in snap-and-go. As you walk the two blocks to the studio you run into another mom with baby who can tell you are a newbie. Don’t worry, she says, everyone’s baby cries. And the best part is, she says, there’s always someone else’s baby crying — louder than yours. It’s not the baby crying I’m worried about, I tell her. It’s me.

Now, if someone’s baby is always louder, doesn’t it stand to reason that every class, someone has to have the loudest baby?

Uh huh. And guess who won this week?

But it was okay. Once we got inside, hugged some of our friends from prenatal yoga, admired each others babies, everything was okay.

I looked around, sat down, leaned against a bolster and pulled out a boob, as at least half the class was also doing. We went around the room and introduced ourselves while various babies cried to drown us out.

I was nursing for at least half an hour. The woman across from me, her baby had a total diaper blow out. I watched her pull out supplies and change the baby right on the yoga mat. Cool. No shlepping to the bathroom.

I enjoyed about five minutes of feeling glad that wasn’t me before Jonah started crying. Total blow out. On both layers of onesies and his sweatpants. Scrambled to clean him up without getting poo on anything yoga-related. Put him in the spare onesie I’d brought, but saved the top layer sleeper for end of class, in case blow out occurred again (it didn’t).

He was still crying after the diaper change. The teacher came over and helped rock and soothe him so I could do a few poses. (Throughout class she picks up and rocks various babies, sometimes two at a time.)

She brought him back to me and he laid still on a blanket long enough for me to get through a whole pose series and a few more stretches. Woo hoo!

We are invited to stay after class and do any pose we like, the teacher announced, since it’s inevitable that the babies fall asleep at the end.

One more diaper change, a little more nursing, and then he fell asleep. It was 12:45. Class over.

I decided to just pack up and go. The day felt like a success as is, and now, I was hungry.