A New Kind of Yoga

My entire yoga practice and perception of my yoga practice has changed tremendously since the birth of Bodhi.  After numerous failed attempts to practice yoga like I did pre-baby, I realized that I had to completely transform my yoga, physically, mentally, emotionally (and especially time wise). 

Aside from the obvious difference physically, where I now humbly feel like I've started over again in asana because of the intense recovery of the C-section, the difference in focus is astonishing as well.   I spent the first 3 months of her life trying to squeeze a session (in vain) into an already insane day in between her feedings, my pumping, laundry, work, etc., I had to remind myself for about the eight thousandth time in my life that (duh) sadhana (spiritual practice) is in every moment, not just on the mat. 

When I'm singing to her, nursing her, folding her tiny little laundry (oh, how I love that baby laundry detergent that smells like what the color pink should if it had a smell), I am attempting to cultivate my mindfulness, being in the moment.  When she is cranky or fighting sleep, I hold her against me, rocking and engaging in deep pranayama - I've found Ujayyi breathing (Darth Vader) to be her favorite (and the most effective in soothing her - must be most like the womb!).

When I am lucky enough to be able to roll out my mat, I combine it with her playtime, taking the opportunity to stretch into some wide leg forward bends and other floor asanas while I stretch her legs and roll her from side to side and do other "mommy and me" exercises.  I have these little funky finger puppets that I'll put on my index fingers and dance them around as I breathe my arms overhead. As I exhale them down, I tickle her arms and belly as she giggles and cackles.

I spend a lot of my yoga time now smiling.   I used to be so serious during my practice.  Now, any session with her involves giggling, laughing, singing, and the occasional poop interruption.  Not too far from the yoga I experienced in India...

Before her birth, I purchased a few "Mommy and Me" yoga and exercise videos.  Though I was religious about using prenatal yoga and exercise DVDs, I have to say this hasn't been the case postpartum.  The only one I've really managed to use is Shiva Rea's "Mama and Baby" yoga (which is adorable) but even that is mostly put aside while I put on a groovy CD and she and I do our own thing.

Very rarely, usually when she's decided to take a longer nap and I somehow will myself to put aside the laundry, dishes, grading, and all the things that never seem to end, I am able to have the unbelievable luxury of a 45 minute or hour yoga session to myself.

When this happens, I am so excited and overwhelmed with the possibilities of it all that I can barely contain myself.  I lose myself in the deliciousness of this quiet, unencumbered time and I absolutely lose and find myself simultaneously, going so deeply into that place where my body, mind and heart unite and it reminds me...reminds me of a strength that I do possess, both in mind and body, that is so easy to forget when you are weepy and exhausted and post partum and carrying around extra baby poundage and feel like the world is crashing in around you.

A couple of days ago, I was weepy and irritated and trying to figure out a new car seat with a squirming, cranky baby who was ready to MOVE this vehicle right now (she does not like an unmoving car!)  I was swearing and in tears.  I finally got it figured out and as I passed the dock on the lake, I stopped the car because the sunset was so alarmingly stunning, a deep orange and burgandy expanse against the black silhouette of the trees.  I could hear a large group of geese honking and making all sorts of chatter.  Many more flew in overhead and I could hear the soft "wffftt" of their wings flapping.  As they landed, the collective "sssshhh" of the water splashed against their wingtips and I breathed it all in, smiling.  I could feel God taking me by the hand, "Look, you dummy.  This is your practice. Peace is all around you.  Just take it in. This is your yoga now."

Life in Extremes

I spent the majority of my time in India in a baffled state of trying to reconcile the extremes.  A land of contradictions, there was a Grand Canyon sized gap between those who have and those in utter poverty, those who were giving and those who would steal and take you for everything you had, and the beauty and the raw ugliness. India was bizarre, filthy, appaling, maddening, unfamiliar, yet at serendipitous times, overwhelmingly beautiful, unchartered, exhilerating, full of surprises, and capable of moving my spirit to a level that is undefinable.  While the darkness could be so hopelessly abymsal, the spiritual beauty soared to a level so transcendent, I couldn't help but cry on a daily basis.  Against the constant chaos and despair, India gave me some of the most breathtaking, miraculous, God-filled moments of my life.

I have come to the conclusion that having a newborn is kind of like India.

In both, I have gotten little to no sleep, have rarely gotten a hot shower uninterrupted, suffered complete physical exhaustion and emotional breakdowns, and of course...there is so much poop everywhere!

The lows can be so low. The up all night sleep deprivation, moving through your blurred days as a stained, disheveled, frumpy, sore, spit-up covered zombie.  Those disheartening times when nursing isn't quite the beautifully perfect, effortless beatific experience La Leche makes it out to be.  Instead, there are times when she is screaming, arching, her mouth no longer belonging to a soft baby's, but instead has been taken over by an angry pirana in a purple sleeper who is fiercely pulling on your painful nipple and stretching it like it's taffy. Her tiny balled fists are curled in fury, her face beet red and her cries like a machine gun.  She's crying.  You're crying.  The dog is hiding.  Night comes and you wonder with anxiety how you are going to do this all night again with no sleep.  It starts to feel like Groundhog Day. It all seems hopeless...

But then, the morning light comes.  She wakes up and smiles at you, beaming at you in recognition.  She laughs when you make raspberries on her little tummy and she reaches out to your face, exploring your jaw and nose as if it's the most amazing thing ever.  She looks deep into your eyes in recogition, just straight into your soul, as if she's the only one in the world who really knows you.  These moments, when she is warm and squishy and soft and loving, there is nothing better.  Except when she is warm and squishy and soft and loving in your arms while completely asleep, peaceful with her soft whispery breaths.

And then there are the magic nursing moments when everything gels and she latches on seamlessly and effortlessly.  She reaches up with her free hand, touches your jaw and then smiles at you.  Then, she closes her eyes and sighs contently and it is as if God's divine light is pouring right through you in all of its transcendent glory.

Or it could be the oxytocin release...

Either way, as my friend Emily says, "It's a good thing, at 3 a.m., that they're so damn cute."  Word.

And she is cute.  And I am so blessed.  And again, God never said it would be easy, only worth it.  And she is worth it.  My God, is she... I have never known such love.  There needs to be a bigger word for this kind of love!

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Five

The next few days in the hospital were a sleepless blur (who can get sleep with nurses and assistants and housekeeping coming in every hour?) of emotional ups and downs, extreme physical pain, scares with Bodhi, frustrations, and miracles.  After the surgery, we spent the next morning with Bodhi, nursing her, adoring her, still trying to process everything that had happened as I was stuck in the bed with a catheter, unable to move and immensely sore from the c-section. They took her back to the nursery in the afternoon so we could try to get a nap since neither of us had slept more than 2 or 3 hours the previous night (and I still hadn’t slept since Sunday).  Less than an hour later, a doctor appeared in our room and informed us that Bodhi was taken to the NICU because she had stopped breathing on her own for “longer than they were comfortable with.”  I didn’t understand – we had just had her and she was perfect.  It was so surreal and I was so weak with exhaustion, I became very emotional and overwhelmed.

Bodhi spent the next three days in the NICU under observation with wires and machinery and nurses round the clock.  It absolutely broke my heart to see her in there and to not be able to have her room with us. The second day in NICU, as I was wheeled down for one of the feedings (walking all that way was still out of the question, unfortunately), a doctor and several nurses were in her room and one nurse with a big cart told us we’d have to wait to go in.  My heart dropped to the floor as she put on her surgical mask.  I wish she would have just told me then and not sent my mind racing to the worst, but it turned out Bodhi had developed jaundice so they were covering her with glowing bilirubin blankets, which made her look like a little glow worm.

All of this caused complications with breastfeeding - something that had started out so well had now become a major struggle. The drugs used during surgery had caused a delay in my milk and made her sleepy and fussy according to the nurses.  Then with her and I both hooked up to iv’s and wires, this made it really difficult and unnatural to get in a good position.  They had given her formula a few times also because they said she was “voracious” and hungry all the time at 9 lbs and I just couldn’t keep up since I wasn’t producing much yet.  This killed me as I had not wanted her to have formula at all.  They had also given her pacifiers with sugar water for all the tests, pokes, etc. which caused textbook “nipple confusion” for her and made it difficult for her to latch on.  Every 2 hours as I tried to nurse her, she arched, screamed, struggled as I cried and cried, feeling completely helpless, this snowball effect of everything spinning out of control seeming to never end.

However, the biggest obstacle of all, hands down, was the severe sleep deprivation.  I thought after everything, I would be able to sleep and recover, but nurses, doctors, maintenance, housekeeping, etc. constantly came into our room throughout the night every half hour it seemed to check vitals, check stitches, ask questions, do paperwork, give medication, take out the trash, etc.  I don’t know how anyone ever sleeps there!  The intense lack of sleep made me delirious and sick and made it extremely difficult to focus on the one job I needed to do – feed my baby.

On our fourth day in the hospital, two magical things happened:  Bodhi was discharged from the NICU back to our room (still with bilirubin blankets) and an amazing lactation consultant introduced the shield, which made Bodhi instantly latch on and nurse with no problems. I couldn’t believe this two inch piece of flimsy plastic could magically fix everything, but it did.  I cried with relief as she nursed like a champ. As she slept, Jimmy and I even got a nap in.  It was a wonderful, beautiful day. 

I keep thinking, though, about how that time in the hospital was such a Buddhist/Yogic lesson for me.  From surrendering to the intense pain during the natural labor, to using my chanting and prayer in the most powerful way I ever have, to letting go when things did not go as planned, to surrendering control and trusting strangers and accepting their compassion and kindness, to having detachment to the few (like the midwife) who did not show this compassion and kindness, to let others take care of me in the days following the surgery.  I realized how quickly our physical bodies can become vessels of suffering, causing us to become so dependent on others. 

And, of course, the best things in life aren’t the easiest.  A church sign near where I live states, “God didn’t say it was easy, only worth it.”  And she is worth everything. 

Amy, a yoga instructor/doula said to me, “A bodhisattva doesn’t become a Bodhisattva by sliding into this world easily.”   Indeed.  I guess I should have known what I was getting into when we chose the name.  Maybe if I would have named her Jennifer, this would have been a different story. :D

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Four

In a haze, I said to the nurses, “I’ve only ever had wisdom teeth pulled.  I’m scared of surgery.”  They were so nice and sweet, “Aww, honey, you’ll be just fine.”   The doctor came in with his face mask and his kind eyes looked down at me (he is very little, very young and very cute, so I nicknamed him Doogie Howser in my head immediately).  He said something about my pelvis being way too small and the angle at which she was coming in (later, I would find out all that back labor was the culprit - her posterior position was the contributing factor of her getting stuck).  He said she was jammed so tightly, he couldn’t fit his forceps up in there around her head so we would have to go ahead with the surgery.  The anesthesiologist appeared above me and she held my hand and began describing everything as it was happening.

I kept asking, “Where’s Jimmy?” and was told he was on his way.  He had to get scrubbed in and dressed first.  I started getting really shaky and trembling, then the shudders became more and more severe into all out tremors.  My teeth clattered loudly as my jaw clenched up and I could hardly speak.  All jittery, I kept saying, “I’m shaking.”  And the friendly anesthesiologist would say, “yes, yes, it’s normal.”

I could hear my labor mix CD start playing softly in the background. The nurses had asked if I had a preference for music and they agreed to play my CD I had made on their player in the background instead of the radio.  This provided an unbelievable comforting connection to the familiar and hearing it soothed me, it being the one connecting thread I had to the natural labor in the birthing center. 

Jimmy appeared next to me with his mask and scrubs and I reached out my trembling hand to him.  I knew from the books the C-section wouldn’t take long – about an hour or so, and most of that time is after the baby was out.  In my frightened haze, I took comfort in knowing she would be out soon, with the rest of the time spent with the doctor putting me back together again.

I felt a pinching where the doctor was making the incision and then smelled a burning scent. The anesthesiologist said things like, “You’ll feel a lot of pressure here” and “You’re going to feel a tugging” and “this next part is going to make you feel nauseous.”  Everything she said was true, but always was understated because I couldn’t believe how much I could actually feel!  I could feel my insides being pulled and moved around and tugged violently.  At times, the pressure and pulling felt like I was being scooped out like a Halloween pumpkin.  As a deep nauseating sensation filled my core, I heard Jimmy cry out, “Oh, oh, here she comes!  She’s almost here!  They’ve almost got her!”

Then I heard him say, “Oh my God!” and I saw my baby girl held up in the air above my belly, all lavender and slippery, her immediate raspy cry the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in all my life.  I sobbed with relief, gratitude and sheer happiness as Jimmy cried with me. 

This was a much different entrance for her than I had planned.  I had been visualizing this harmonious, beautiful natural childbirth, one where I would reach down beatifically to help pull my baby out and then lay her to my chest as the ultimate reward after all the hard labor. But at that moment, seeing her little purple body and hearing her adorable cry, nothing else mattered. I didn’t care of they had to take her out of my ear, my baby was okay.  She was here.  I continued to sob as my body shook violently from the drugs, my arms literally bouncing off the table and my hands fluttering around.  Then I heard someone exclaim with astonishment in their voice, “9 pounds!” 

The next part was one of the toughest for me.  Even in the event of a C-section, I had outlined in my birth plan that I hoped to have the baby laid directly on my chest after her arrival and have some skin to skin time.  But the reality was I was shaking so severely at this point, there was no way I could hold onto Bodhi, no matter how much I wanted to.  So Jimmy held her, swaddled up in her little blanket.  He brought her close to my face for a few seconds so I could see her and I just wanted to take her in forever.  She had the chubbiest cheeks I had every seen, the cutest little bow shaped lips and a head full of curly dark hair.  I ached to hold her and it hurt overwhelmingly not being able to.

Jimmy sat back down next to me on his stool, just out of my sight range. With my neck and jaw so clenched from the epidural, I couldn’t turn my head to see him or the baby. I tried to tell him this, but my jaw was so tight and I was shaking so badly, I couldn’t speak or get his attention and this killed me.  I tried to reach out with my left hand to touch her, but could only manage to pathetically slap a bit at her blanket with my trembling arm.  While I knew Jimmy was ecstatic to be able to hold her and spend those first few sacred minutes with her and I was happy for him, at the same time I was also insanely jealous that I couldn’t do the same.  I could not help but think, “I AM  the one who just went through hell! I want to hold my baby!” 

The longest part was just laying there shaking while they sewed me back up. I began feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath and the anesthesiologist put an oxygen mask over my face.  My body felt severely achy and exhausted from the day’s events and from shaking so violently.  All I wanted in the world were two things: to hold my baby and to sleep.   I had heard my music throughout the birth in a distant and surreal way, but now with the baby out and nothing to do but lay there and wait for them to sew me up, I could hear it more clearly.  “This Woman’s Work” started to play and I couldn’t help but cry a little bit.  I never thought I’d end up being the 5% statistic that needed emergency surgery. Never in a million years.  I couldn’t believe what we had gone through today.  But I was so relieved that my baby was out and was okay.   When the Beach Boys’ melodic “In My Room” came on, I was amused to hear the doctor and a few nurses sing along to its rhythmic and relaxing melody.  That really meant something to me.  It made the experience less sterile and so much more human and personal. In this aspect, I felt myself more in this unexplained turn of events instead of it just happening to me.

Not long after, I was wheeled into a recovery room with Jimmy sitting next to my hospital gurney.  I was still shaking and wondered when it would stop.  Then, the greatest gift of all - someone appeared and plopped Bodhi down on my chest and I looked down at her and started crying so hard.  She was so beautiful and perfect!  It was as if my chest just caved open and my heart exploded in that moment.  She scooted herself over to my right breast and started nursing right away.  I was blown away by this instinct and said out loud, “What a clever baby!”  I was so passionate about nursing, so I was ecstatic to see it was happening already.  I also was happy to see she wasn’t so drugged up that she still knew she wanted to nurse.  This moment was a true light in the darkness of everything that had just transpired. I couldn’t believe I finally had her in my arms and that it was all over with.

While Bodhi nursed, Emily and Sharon walked in and they both looked like hell, so exhausted and haggard – they looked like I felt.  They all agreed of course that she was the most beautiful baby ever!

Then a big, gruff nurse took her off me to get her footprints, measurements, etc. and then in an alarmed voice, she said Bodhi’s blood sugar was really low, “I’ll need to give her formula immediately.”  In my delirious, exhausted state, I weakly protested, “No, I’m breastfeeding.”  I heard her say it was necessary and the next thing I knew they inserted a little feeding tube in her.  “Is she okay?” I asked. The nurse said, “Yes” and I relaxed back into my morphine haze.  I see why people get addicted to morphine – I don’t think anything then could have bothered me, I was so relaxed and peaceful.  Around 3 a.m, we were finally taken to our room and I drifted off into a brief hallucinogenic sleep, marking the end to the longest day of my life.

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Three

The next thing I knew I was being wheeled down the hallway in a wheel chair and as the next contraction hit, my screams ricocheted off the walls and I sobbed like a 4-year-old, half from the pain, half from the defeat I felt in moving from the birthing center to labor and delivery for the epidural.  Everything was a blur, but I knew one thing – once the decision was made to get the epidural so I could rest and to help Bodhi shift, I could not get it fast enough. 

I was put on a skinny, tall hospital bed, so different from the big comfy hotel bed of the birthing room, and they had me sit up to get the epidural, which was unbelievably painful.  They told me to tuck my chin and arch my back, but as another contraction hit, this was impossible. I writhed and screamed in pain as Sharon held my face in her hands and fought not to move during the intense pain.  I cried as the pinch of the needle went in.  I felt one more contraction and then they lay me back on the bed and slowly a tingly numbness came over my legs and hips and I immediately relaxed and started to drift off to sleep.  It was the sweetest relief I had ever felt in my life.  When I had begged God for mercy, God had delivered.

For about an hour or so, I slipped in and out of a quiet realm. After resting a bit, Liz came back in, “Are you ready to push?”  I was still so tired, but definitely felt better than I had before, that’s for sure, more focused with the pain at bay.  I nodded yes and Sharon spoon fed me some broth and my sugar-free jello to give me a little sustenance before starting again.

The books are right - you can’t feel much with the epidural.  However, honestly, when I was in such excruciating pain in the birthing center, I couldn’t feel what I was doing either - everything was just so overwhelming that I couldn’t concentrate in the eye of such pain.  I found ironically that the epidural helped me to relax and focus on the midwife’s instructions and feel centered and not sucked up into the tornado of pain.

She had me lay on my back while Jimmy and Sharon stood on either side and pulled my knees up – the classic labor position.  Immediately, it didn’t feel right.  It was awkward and felt ineffective. I kept saying, “I need some momentum – can’t I sit up a little?”  I was immediately told no.  I hated pushing on my back like that – it just felt like I wasn’t doing anything at all.

Then, Liz said she wanted to administer Pitocin because the contractions had slowed.  No!!!!  Pitocin was the epitome of everything I didn’t want.  With so many bad side effects and problems, many books might as well have called it devil juice. I said, “I REALLY don’t want it.”  This was in my birth plan too and once again, it seemed like Liz had not read this at all.  Both Liz and Sharon convinced me that if I wanted the pushing to be effective, I needed a little Pitocin.  I cried, starting to really regret getting the epidural. No matter how much better I felt, it seemed like I was starting to lose control of everything. 

With their persistence, I finally agreed to the most minimal amount of Pitocin possible, just enough to get the contractions going.  It was just like those documentaries said – a snowball effect of intervention.  Once administered, they told me to breathe deeply and then hold my breath as I pushed.  This also felt very counter intuitive.  All I wanted to do was a long, deep yogic ujjai exhale with each push.  Through habit because of all my yoga, I did this accidentally a couple of times and Liz reprimanded me, “Don’t exhale!  Hold your breath!”   It was so hard not to breathe, but I followed her directions as best as I could.

It didn’t seem like I was making much progress and I heard Liz say, “I have to go deliver another baby.  I’ll be back.”   I knew then that she must not think this baby was going to come out for awhile and I felt really extremely discouraged by this. Plus, in a small way, I felt like I was being abandoned.

The good thing is the nurse, Helen took over and I loved her.  She was so nice and assuring and I hoped the baby would just come while she was there and Liz was gone since I connected more with her.  We did about another hour of pushing with me resting in between the contractions.  During each rest, I came back to my Gayatri mantra again, but this time chanting it really softly and slowly, almost a whisper.  What a huge difference in the way it sounded now in the silence between pushes while everyone stood around quietly compared to my screaming, undecipherable rendition earlier during my un-medicated labor.

Liz came back, uttering something about delivering the baby in the other room and I was instantly overcome with jealously that someone else’s baby had come out already and so quickly! I had never once asked, “How close?” during the entire labor.  I had wanted to be in the moment as much as possible and not think about numbers, dilation, hours, etc.  I had been riding out the moment and each wave like a labor surfer and not thinking about what was next.  But, this is when I started to feel like something might be wrong.

Liz gave me permission to squat – finally!!!  They attached a squat bar and every time a contraction hit, Jimmy and Sharon hoisted me up.  And boy, did I squat!  I bore down with all my might.  I squatted and swayed my hips and pushed and grimaced with all the energy and power I had and then some.  I finally felt somewhat back in control again.  I thought, “This is it, I can do this!”  And I really believed it.  I had never felt so primal and so womanly. A while later, I heard Helen say, “There’s her head!”  I heard Jimmy say, “Oh my god!  She has so much hair!”  This really changed everything for me and got me so excited.  We were close!  I was going to do this!

I kept squatting, pushing, squatting, clenching, and collapsing in between each session and nodding off in delirious exhaustion.  This went on for awhile.  Around 9 p.m., Liz said, “we’ll give it another hour.”  I didn’t even know why she said this because I was about to push this baby out!  We could see her head!  I was squatting!  It wouldn’t take an hour – what was she talking about?  I knew she would be born by tonight, I knew my baby’s birthday was going to be July 17^th.  I could just feel it.  I continued to squat and sway and bore down even more, tapping into my inner reserve like never before.  I pushed and pushed until it felt like everything down south would just fall out.  Then I vaguely heard someone say something about a fever.

Evidently I was the one with the fever and they were concerned.  Then I heard Liz say, “We’re done.”  She got up and walked away and I looked at the clock:  10:30 p.m. My contractions had started at 12:30 a.m. that morning.  I had been pushing since the birthing center that early afternoon.  I knew it was time for another plan.  She said she was calling the doctor and said something about forceps.  I thought, “Okay, okay, he can still get her out, we can still do this.”   Helen said we’d meet him in the OR.  Wait…what?  I said, “But is he doing forceps?”  Helen said, “Possibly, but we need to prep you in case he decides to take her by C-section.”

And with that statement, I lost it.  I let out a wail and couldn’t stop crying. All the exhaustion, all the pain, all the pushing and now there could be a C-section? This could not be happening.  After all of that?  After 22 hours of labor?  After them seeing her head?  But, she was so close! Why wasn’t she coming out?   This was everything I had wanted to avoid, everything I had feared.  Jimmy and Sharon said, “We just need to get this baby out and make sure you’re okay.”  I looked into their eyes and knew they were right, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.  The 24 hour mark was looming since my water broke and I knew the hospital wouldn’t let me go past that because of increased risk of infection.  That coupled with my severe exhaustion and my fever – it just wasn’t looking good.

I looked at Emily, “Pray for us - pray for me and the baby.” I couldn’t stop crying.  I was scared.  Everything was just happening so fast.  She was crying too, “I will, I will.” Then, the next thing I knew, overhead lights blurred by as I was wheeled through the hallways and elevators, this time flat on my back in the hospital bed.  Nurses in face masks hovered over me and I thought, This is it.  Surgery.  But the extreme exhaustion trumped my resistance - I couldn’t fight it or argue.  I just wanted for Bodhi to be out and everything to be okay.  More than anything, I just wanted sleep.

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Two

Liz wanted me out of the tub so she could check my dilation again.  Getting out of the warm water was torture because the pain of the contractions was even more exacerbated in the cold air.  I felt Liz roughly check me again and say, “There’s a little bit of lip left” which meant I was almost but not completely dilated.  They laid me on my back for awhile with pillows. Every time I had a contraction, Sharon and Jimmy would pull me up by my arms and I’d lean my head back and just let my body go limp like jelly until it was over.  I could hear myself screaming through each one.  I was getting extremely exhausted at this point and didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.  I had been exhausted for hours, having no sleep at all was taking its toll and the tapping into my “inner reserves” for the last several hours was going to wear out fast.

We stayed with this position for about an hour and then Liz checked me again.  She said flatly, “No change.  The lip’s still there. And it’s a little puffy.”  This was not good - puffiness can cause complications.  I needed to get open and soon.  So, for about another hour, during every contraction, I screamed over and over, “Open, Open, Open, Open, OPEN OPEN OPEN” and visualized that lip just disappearing.  I was so exhausted.  After saying “OPEN!” hundreds of times, Liz checked me again – another excruciating experience of feeling like she was shoving her hand through my spine and turning my insides out.  But she said, “She’s fully dilated.”

Emily, Jimmy and Sharon all laughed and clapped in victory.  Jimmy said, “You did it, mama!”  I felt a mix of happiness, relief…and terror…because this meant I had to push now and I just had no idea how I was going to physically do it as exhausted as I was.  I had nothing left to give.  I didn’t even have fumes left to run on.

We got back in the tub but the pain just kept getting worse with each contraction.  I asked, “Am I still in transition?”  Transition was supposedly the most painful part and at this point, I needed some measure of when this pain would end.  Sharon said, “Oh, honey, you’re WAY beyond transition.”  This didn’t make sense to me – why was the pain getting worse then? 

I started praying, mumbling, “God, please, please, please, have mercy” over and over again.  I prayed out loud in between the screaming and crying.  I kept saying, “It’s only temporary” and “This won’t last” also because I had to remind myself that there would be a time soon when I wouldn’t feel this god awful pain anymore.  Sharon and Emily kept saying, “Yes, yes, it’s only temporary.”   I screamed and sobbed like a child and Jimmy cried with me, bless his heart.   I prayed out loud in whispers that no one could understand but myself and God.

I started feeling really woozy and detached. I could still feel all the pain ripping through my body, but I felt like I was half there in that tub and half somewhere else.  I didn’t know who was in the room anymore or where the voices were coming from.  I had my eyes closed and just kept going deeper and deeper within myself.  When I would open my eyes I would see spots in my vision.  When they were closed, I felt like I was slipping off to some other realm, some other dream like state.  I began to understand why the Navajo say that during childbirth, the mother leaves her own body to travel up to the heavens to bring back the soul of her child for birth.  It felt a little scary, but very spiritual.  Very shamanic, like I was traversing worlds, one foot in this one, one foot in another.  Jimmy told me later that my pupils were really dilated and my eyes looked bizarre.  It made me think of the sadhus (holy men) in India and how their eyes looked, in between worlds, but not entirely in either one.

I kept praying and then Liz wanted me to get out of the tub again.  I REALLY didn’t want to, but followed her directions, figuring whatever will help get the baby out was what I wanted.  I labored on the toilet, with the contractions at their worst at this point, which I couldn’t believe was even possible. Liz said, “Okay, she’s REALLY going to have to work now” which, for the record, is an infuriating thing to say to someone who has been laboring unmedicated for 15+ hours. 

It was decided I would start pushing, but I really didn’t feel any sensation to push at all.  Nothing like the books said about pressure, just excruciating back pain – that’s all I could feel.  But, following her instructions, I bore down anyway, legs bent, like I was trying to take the hugest crap of my life.  The pain was even worse now in this position and I felt betrayed by all the books that had said transition was the worst part and during pushing the contractions would lessen a bit.  Bullcrap!  These contractions just kept getting progressively worse, with all them running together, one on top of each other at freight train intensity. 

Liz disappeared and then Sharon and the nurse both held onto a rope and had me pull the rope with both hands with each contraction, like a labor tug of war.  I pulled as I bore down and I hated it because the carpel tunnel in my hands made it very difficult to hold on and pull.  Plus, as exhausted as I was, trying to pull the rope, bare down, push, clench my face, and hold my breath all at the same time was just overwhelming to try to coordinate all at the same time.  I kept forgetting at least one of these elements and would hear, “Hold your breath!”  “Bare down!” “Pull harder” and I kept saying, “I’m trying, I’m trying” as I cried.  Oh, the pain.  At this point, the pain had accelerated to an electrifying level and being out of the tub without the warm water to soothe and the position on the toilet combined to make the contractions so intensified and sharp it was definitely at the point of being unbearable.

Then, right in the middle of one of these contractions, I looked through the bathroom door and saw Liz sitting, her body angled away from us, texting on her phone.  TEXTING!   Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher that texting is one of those things that brings out my inner Kali – the one thing that just really gets me fired up – it is the epitome of disrespect and dismissal.  I screamed, “Get off your fucking phone and get in here and help MEEEEEEEEEE!”  Another contraction hit as the sentence turned into a half scream, half cry.   Liz looked up, walked back in and looked at me as if I was crazy.

I could feel the “ring of fire” burning all the books talked about, like everything down below was just going to burn off and fall out.  I never had any problems in the butt area during pregnancy but soon enough after all that pushing, I said, “It feels like there’s playdoh coming out of my butt” and Jimmy and Emily laughed and Sharon smiled.  “Yep, yep, that’s normal,” she said.

After a couple of hours of toilet and tug of war rope pushing, they took me back to the bed and Liz painfully checked me again.  Through the next excruciating, back snapping contraction, I cried, “I can’t do this anymore.  I am so tired.”   They all kept saying, “Yes, yes, but you can do it.”   But at this point I had this real sinking feeling like something was wrong – why was I still not feeling the urge to push?  Why was nothing happening? I felt this was way beyond mind over matter and beyond my control. My body was so beyond physically exhausted at this point.  I had been burning on empty fumes for hours and the no sleep factor was kicking my ass.  I felt like I had already been tapping into my warrior inner reserves and my “I can do this” determination since the early morning hours.  Pushing with no results had just really taken every last ounce of any strength I had left.  I thought to myself even if the baby was right there, I didn’t think I had the strength to give those mighty pushes to get her out.  Liz pulled her hand out abruptly and said flatly, “Baby’s no where close.  I’d say she has at least a couple more hours of pushing.”

Everyone in the room groaned and I collapsed into tears again. I was seeing spots, feeling woozy and dizzy and extremely nauseous and sick. I didn’t understand – I was doing all the positions, all the “right things” – she should have been on her way out by now. I was dry heaving and my doula held a basket in front of face.  I threw up into it a couple of times and after, felt like I was just going to pass out from exhaustion.  After another ungodly and excruciating contraction, I collapsed in defeat, “I need to rest.” 

I heard Liz say, “If she wants to rest, she’ll need an epidural.”

No, no, no!  I did NOT want an epidural.  But as another contraction ripped through me right on the heels of the last, I knew it was over. My body did not have the chi to do this anymore.  It had been 17 hours.  This was beyond the pain - it was the exhaustion that was my nemesis.  Jimmy said, “Mama, get the epidural.  You gave it your all.  You have got to get some rest if you’re going to have the strength to push her out.”  Emily and the doula all agreed with him.  The doula even said getting the epidural could possibly help Bodhi shift out of posterior position.  I nodded, but cried, “I will feel like I’ve failed.”  They all quickly assured me this wouldn’t be the case at all and I had to do what’s best for the baby, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was failing myself and giving up.  As the next contraction hit almost immediately and I felt myself feeling like I would pass out, those thoughts faded and I realized I had to give myself some levity and do what I needed to do to deliver this baby.  I needed rest in order to get a second wind to push her out.  That was all there was to it.

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part One

Giving birth to Bodhi was a HUGE lesson in Buddhism without a doubt.  After a tremendously busy day where I had more energy than a room full of monkeys on speed, my water broke with two mighty gushes around midnight.  I stood for a few moments in the giant puddle, not moving, in complete denial. Then I felt a wave of anxiety and got a little light headed as the realization washed over me that OH SHIT, THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING! 

I woke up Jimmy to show him my lovely puddle and after getting the ok from our doula and midwife, I lay down in bed, naively thinking I could get at least a couple of hours in before contractions started. 20 minutes later, I started feeling a radiating band of pressure across my lower back on par with first day’s menstrual cramps every few minutes.  I tried to ignore them and focus on getting to sleep, but who were we kidding? Even if the contractions hadn’t started, my mind was racing like crazy with thoughts of what the next few hours would bring! 

I tossed and turned until about 3:00 a.m. when the pain was an intensity that was more than uncomfortable. I woke Jimmy up again (how could he be SLEEPING at a time like this?) and asked him to time the pain.  3 minutes apart.  Hmmm….That couldn’t be right.  We thought we’d have hours and hours to hang out and labor in the comfort of our home, play some games, cook some food, etc. But, things were happening quickly and the pains were getting mighty intense.  So, we called the midwife and doula again and they said, “3 minutes apart?  Better head on out.”

It was pitch black and the roads were so clear and quiet at 4 a.m.  I felt nervous, but excited too, like how I feel when I leave for the airport early in the morning for a trip, but this time the excitement was mixed with a lot of anxiety and a healthy dose of fear.  The whole ride there, I moaned quiet “oooohhhhhs” with each radiating band of pain.  So far I was feeling them almost entirely in my back, not my abdomen.

Upon arriving, the birthing room was MAGNIFICENT!  And I was just so thankful we had a room, period.  (We’d heard more than our share of “no room at the inn” stories). Our room felt like a fancy hotel with a huge bed and big ol’ Jacuzzi hot tub.  I didn’t feel like a patient, but like I was away at a posh hotel for a weekend, granted, a hotel which I was going to bring a human being into the world in, but a hotel nonetheless.

Sharon, my doula (bless her!) met us around 4:00 a.m. when we arrived and immediately I felt at ease, any anxiety melting away.  With her and Jimmy there, I felt ready to DO THIS!  I began using the birthing ball (sitting on it, leaning on it, moaning on it).   The contractions were steadily becoming more painful, still almost entirely across my back.  As I moaned and rocked my hips, we watched the sun rise. Everything was very quiet and I could feel us creating a sacred space, just like I had wanted.  Even though I was tired, I was feeling pretty good overall, like I could handle this.  The contractions definitely were hurting a lot but I was able to moan through them and lean into them.   We ordered breakfast and Jimmy put on my first labor mix CD – a relaxing one that really set the atmosphere and clicked something in my brain that said, Here we go!

Around 8 a.m. my best friend Emily arrived – the third and final member of my wonderful birth team.  The contractions were starting to become really intense by now, so I started using the TENS unit (a sticky patch you put on your skin that sends little electric volts) which helps counteract pain.  At this point, my yoga really kicked in and I began evolving my general “Oohs” and “Aaahs” into chants. 

I started with “Lokaah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu.”  May the world be filled with peace and joy, love and light, may my positive actions affect the positive actions of others.  This was perfect at this stage of labor, because of its meaning and also because it had a lot of vowels (At our first meeting, Sharon had said, “The more you open your mouth, the more you open your hooey.”)  This statement, of course, was the deciding factor in me hiring her. I focused on filling the room with that peace and joy and light and a natural and mindful labor process that would influence the baby to come out in the same way.

Around 11 a.m. or so, the midwife showed up.  A different midwife had checked us in, one I liked.  But shifts had changed and when this midwife walked in the room, I was really disappointed.  I adored six of the seven midwives in the practice, but there was one (there’s always one, isn’t there?) who had made me cry the whole way home after our appointment.  She had been condescending, rude, and really rough with her physical examination. I was really worked up about it, but figured what were the chances that I’d get her?  One in seven? No reason to worry.

But here she was and I immediately thought, God certainly has a sense of humor.  I wondered if there must be some reason for her of all people to be the one on call, but I couldn’t spend much time thinking about it because another contraction hit and I realized quickly that this was no joke – it was much sharper than all the ones before.

My doula asked the midwife (we’ll call her Liz) to check me.  They had me lay on the bed, which was a super uncomfortable position at this point and then I felt a raw, ripping sharp pain inside me as Liz did the examination, causing me to scream out in pain.  It felt like she had punched through to my spleen.  With no reaction, she uttered plainly, “6 or 7 cm.”   I caught my breath and said, “No shit?!?”  Emily, Sharon and Jimmy all laughed.  I was surprised I was that far along.  I had said ahead of time I didn’t want to get attached to numbers, especially if they were still low – I didn’t want to get psyched out as I heard many women do.  But a 6 or 7?  Rock on!  I was on my way!

They started filling the tub, since I was “water worthy” according to Sharon.  It took about 45 minutes for the large tub to fill so while we waited, I labored more on the ball and then some with me standing and leaning against Jimmy in what we called “Junior High Dance” position.  My CD continued playing and one of our favorite songs came on and both Jimmy and I started tearing up.  I just felt so much love, so much beauty, so grateful to be with him and that he was with me so fully and completely during all of this.  I sank into him, feeling more love for him than ever.

Eventually the tub was filled and just in time as the contractions were getting REALLY freaking painful.  They were longer, sharper and right on the edge of being unbearable. As Jimmy and Emily helped me into the tub, I sank down into the warm water, submerging and feeling the sweet relief of the heated water enveloping my body.  Ahhhhhhh!  It felt SO good, such healing relief.

Jimmy had set up all our focal points, our icons, along the back of the tub – we had a wooden Ganesh (to remove obstacles), a beautiful wooden Jesus crucifix with huge hands, an African Madonna and child, a Kwan Yin, a beautiful and calming picture of my grandmother when she was young, a rosary from my trip to Rome and mala beads (made from Bodhi tree seeds!) from my trip to India.   Jimmy had lined these with our little battery operated candles and I have to say, with the dim lights and water and candles, it was a gorgeous display and really set the atmosphere.  It was everything I had envisioned.  Even in the immense pain, I was really grateful to have things happening the way they were. 

Sharon kept saying how “textbook” my labor was and how everything was going so great.  I felt so encouraged!  Then, Liz, the midwife, brought in another person – a midwife in training.  I had met her once before at one of the appointments, but I had specifically stated in my typed birth plan that I wanted no interns, students, assistants, or family members – only Jimmy, Emily, the doula, a nurse and the midwife – I didn’t want an audience or any extra people.  I wanted an intimate and quiet environment.  I thought about saying something immediately and was annoyed that Liz hadn’t paid attention to this very first thing on my birth plan, but the contractions were getting so intense and Nancy (the trainee) had already started spraying my back with the hot water hose hooked to the tub and I was in too much pain to protest.

The midwife and doula had me do a bunch of different positions, some comforting and some absolutely excruciating, but was told they’d help move the baby down and turn her over (they concluded I was indeed having back labor).  The hands and knees position in the water and leaning into Jimmy was the most effective in helping bear the pain.  But they kept having me switch positions and lay on my side with my leg up in the air.  It felt really awkward and was extremely painful during the contractions.   The lovely chants had become full out bellows at the top of my lungs during each contraction now with them getting so intense.  I really used my voice, like never before, moaning out each syllable with the pain.

At some point, I heard Nancy, the trainee, say something about all our icons and taking a picture.  Not really fully comprehending what she even said, I think I vaguely nodded and all of a sudden the dim room filled with a flash.  Then another.  Then another.  When yet another flash went off, with barely any energy after my contraction, I raised my hand and waved it towards her in the most pathetic way, like a sick puppy pawing at the air, in attempt to convey, “I can’t speak, but knock it the fuck off.”  Emily turned to her and said, “Yeah, enough already.”

A few minutes later during another contraction, Nancy said, “Serenity, turn over on your side again.”  Weird.  Maybe she thought she was being cute by giving me a nickname because of all the icons and relaxing music?  A few minutes later, she did it again; “Serenity” and I realized she didn’t know my name.  During a contraction, I said through clenched teeth, “My…name…is…Amanda!!!”  I knew then this chick was going to get on my nerves.  Not a few minutes later, Nancy mentioned getting “him” out referring to our daughter.  Both Emily and Jimmy shouted at the same time, “It’s a GIRL!”  

By this time the contractions were so wildly painful that I couldn’t focus on anything, not even the fact that she couldn’t get my name or the gender of my child right.  I had a hard time keeping up with the chanting or catching my breath now. I had switched to the Gayatri Mantra, what I call the “Big Guns” for chanting because it’s long, it’s ancient (from the Rig Veda) and it’s powerful (and only recently has it been taught to women).  Being in transition with the contractions being on top of each other, the Gayatri was perfect because I knew each time I’d get through the whole thing, the elongated contraction would be over – at least for a few seconds.

The real Buddhist practice was trying to stay in the moment as much as I could and not think about what was next.  I didn’t ask if I was dilated any more or when I would push or “how much longer?”  I didn’t ask any of this and tried not to think about anything else except the moment I was in.  I tried so hard to just ride each contraction and the pain as best as I could and then collapsed in exhaustion in between, though these between moments were becoming fewer and fewer.

The pain was becoming so sharp and electrifying that is difficult to even put into words.  It felt as if my spine was being snapped in half and electrocuted each time the contraction ripped through, as if electrified butcher knives were chopping hibachi style down my vertebrae.  This was the first contraction of many where I began to lose any sense of yogic calmness.  I couldn’t finish the chants and ended up just screaming through the contractions, my voice coming from outside of me, but somewhere deep within me in a primal, tribal abyss.  And this would pretty much be the way it was the rest of the labor. 

All the breathing, yoga, chanting and visualizations had been absolutely wonderful and very effective the first 14 hours.  But at this degree of indescribable pain, I have to sadly say I lost all control of them.  I was in a whole new realm of excruciating torture I hadn’t known was humanely possible.  I sobbed, repeating over and over, “I was naïve.  I didn’t know…I didn’t know.”  Because while I had prepared and expected intense pain, I had no conception of the degree to which it would go.  No book, no doctor, nothing can prepare you for this kind of pain. 

I screamed through another contraction and heard Nancy say, “Sssshhhhhh.”  I immediately yelled at her, “DON’T TELL ME TO SSSHHH!!!!”   The one thing my doula and I were passionate about was using my voice as much as possible during labor. It was my lifeline.  I looked at my Sharon and with one look she knew I was done with Nancy.  Sharon nodded, fully understanding and a few minutes later Nancy was gone.  Ah, the power of a doula!

 

It's all Yoga!

I am overjoyed at how with every birthing class we take, I discover it is all YOGA!  They don't call it that of course, but that's what it all is. We've been taught all of the following: deep breathing, visualization, concentration, surrendering, movement, stretching, relaxation, tense and release, being in the moment, "cleansing" breath.  Hmmm - it's deergha swaasam breathing, several of the 8 limbs (including dhyana, dharana, asana and of course, pranayama), naadi suddi, yoga nidra and kundalini cleansing!

How exciting, empowering and relieving, because, hey - I know this stuff!  It's not all brand new or foreign.  I couldn't feel more grateful for that.  I knew yoga would be a part of my pregnancy, but I truly didn't realize how integral it would be to the labor and birth.  It is quite astounding to me. 

Gurmukh's yoga continues to be my calming retreat as I near the finish line.   I'm at 34 weeks and this little girl moves vigorously, enjoying full out womb dance parties several times a day. I can feel her little feet and what feels like elbows or knees poking and rolling over.  I'm constantly dreaming of her birth - it's always in water - and always involving something bizarre like boats driving around or her popping out and looking like a one-year-old, all smiley and clean.

Being this pregnant has conjured up sense memories of India.  In the beginning during the first trimester when I was so brutally sick, my body memory immediately went back to the parasite I had from India and how severely ill I felt.  My time there was nothing short of an electrifying hell, a multisensory assault on my body, spirit and mind, an electrocution to my system that left me spit up on the side of the pot-filled, dung-burning dirt road. I went for spiritual peace, but instead, India turned my entire world turned upside down, inside out, just like she did my insides with that nasty, raging, violent parasite that left me weak and barely breathing.

Yet, now in the third trimester, a different type of body/sense memory is awakening. India was the first time I ever felt the yearning or desire to be a mother.  I was 24 and until this hadn't given much thought to kids or ever felt anything close to a maternal instinct.  I was too busy chasing love, obsessing over my career and focusing on myself, like most girls in their early 20s these days.  But there was something about India that flickered a spark in me, a small seed of awakening, just slightly and subtle that whispered inside of me - "create".   Create despite of, or perhaps because of, all of the death and misery and suffering and unspeakable I had witnessed in those filthy, colorful, bizarre, chaotic streets.  Because admist all that you can't explain or make sense of or wrap your mind around, you realize you want to do everything you can to sustain life, not take it away, but to give and create and not contribute to the suffering.

I know there will be suffering and pain in bringing this little girl into the world and there will be suffering and pain in the world she will live.  But, I still can't help but feel all of this is nothing short of a miracle.  As I experience something so primal that links me to women in all languages, cultures, ethnicities, religions, countries and eras, I feel unified with a greater feminine soul in this journey of creation.  And inside, I feel this great soul, a Mahatma, unfolding mysteriously, hidden from view, but very present, waiting to bud and make her arrival.   

Only six more weeks or so to go!

Mother's Day

This Mother's Day feels really special to me.  I'm at 30 weeks now and she's been doing the Olympics inside my uterus.  Nothing is more fascinating to me now than laying down and watching my stomach flip and turn and pulse, just witnessing her communication and dance. 

Everything feels different now, even the smallest things take the greatest effort - gardening, doing the dishes, taking a walk, teaching class, getting groceries...everything is done with significant breathing and a constant exhaustion.  Yoga has definitely evolved into something different and new.  Hell, being able to shave my legs properly has become a form of yoga for me!

As the weeks have progressed into my third trimester, only Gurmukh's Kundalini yoga has survived as part of my practice, along with a little restorative here and there.  I take a lot of walks, swim and do water zumba and then practice the Kundalini Prenatal as much as I can.  It calms, restores and centers me and makes me feel so connected to my body and my baby. 

She always gets quiet when I do my practice, getting swished and rocked in that little hammock as I do cat/cow pose, squats, standing hip openers and chanting Sat Ta Na Ma.   This kind of yoga is really an extraordinary experience, one I am thankful to be able to experience all during pregnancy. 

I hope I can someday take a retreat or do a training with Gurmukh.  As fascinated I am with both Kundalini Yoga and Sikhism, I'm sure I would gain so much from it and her teachings.   Her book, Beautiful, Bountiful, Blissful has been really helpful too.  She aims to empower you to look at birth as a natural process, one your body knows in its cells how to handle, and most of all, as a spiritual experience, one that connects you with God.

I've been thinking a lot about the labor and delivery, visualizing how I'd like for it to go.  Of course, I know letting go of control or my "ideal" plan is necessary and that as soon as you make hard and fast plans, God likes to laugh.  But I also think intention, preparation and energy go a long way.  I just keep coming back to Buddhism and the principle of surrender.  I keep coming across the idea of letting your "self" just fall away and forget about you feeling the pain, but blend in with all the sensations. Instead of numbing or distracting myself from the pain, I aim to surrender into the middle of the sensations and let myself go as completely as I possibly can.  I'm sure it's easier said than done, but I really want to try as much as I can.

Something I love that Gurmukh says is, "The best book you can read about labor is written inside of you.  The more you read it, the more you will move powerfully into birth."  Since I've read about a gazillion books and still feel pretty terrified and unsure if I can handle it all, this notion really puts my mind at ease.

She also says the third eye center is where to focus because of the pituitary gland being connected to the production of oxytocin, which opens the uterus.  So, I may just have to wear a bindhi to remind myself of this.  Oh yes, I will be the crazy hippie in her bindi giving birth naturally.  And I'm perfectly okay with that.

It's getting so close.  Only 10 more weeks or so.  I hope this baby bakes as long as she can and then comes when she's ready to come.  I pray all goes well and naturally and without any obstacles.  I should definitely pack my Ganesh in my overnight bag!

"When you see God in all, then you're not afraid of anything.  This is true yoga, dwelling in infinity." - Gurmukh

21 Weeks and Vaginas

One of my favorite things about being pregnant is how so many people are nice to you.  They smile knowingly, open doors and engage you in conversation when normally you'd just pass each other as scowly strangers.  Suddenly, women you didn't know are talking to you about breastfeeding, labor stories and how to deal with colic.  One of the best things about this experience is how it brings strangers into a same, happy, miraculous space - discussing new life.

Now, not everyone is nice.  I am still amazed at the jerks who will let a door slam in my face or cut me off in line, even while seeing I'm obviously pregnant (no hiding it now unless sporting a tight basketball across your midsection seems normal).  Even though I want to kick them in the balls (they've always been men so far, I'm sorry to report) I try to remember Plato's creed, "Be kind to everyone as they are each engaged in their own personal battle."

I recently read the book, Soul Surfer by Bethany Hamilton.  She is the girl who was surfing in Kauai, where she lives with her family, and got attacked by a shark.  The shark took her whole arm off.  She went on to not only surf again, but to win competitions!  I was so moved by how grounded she was in her faith, her family, and her love of the ocean.  She handled the whole trauma with such dignity and adaptation, using the tragedy as a way to reach out and help people. 

She taught herself to surf one-armed (an incredible feat when I know how hard it is to learn to surf with all your able parts).  Her whole family lives by the tides and swells and their lives revolve around the ocean, the salt air and their love of God.  The whole story and book really inspired me.

Even though we don't live near the ocean, this little baby will be a water baby.  Since we live on a lake, she'll be taking swim lessons as soon as she can, learn to ski (oooh - little baby skies!) and spend a lot of time at the beach.  

Speaking of, after two psychics, the old "ring test," a multitude of dreams, and about 20 individuals, including restaurant cooks, faculty, family, and a few random strangers told me for sure this baby would be a boy, imagine my shock at our 20 week ultrasound when we saw she was indeed, a little girl!   I kept saying, "I don't see anything between his legs!'  And the ultrasound tech patiently smiled at me, waiting for me to get what that meant.  It only took a delayed few minutes, but I finally realized what this implied.  I am so psyched!  A daughter!   What a powerful gift.  Women are steel magnolias, soft and hard at the same time like the Grand Canyon.  We are Mary and Kali, creation and destruction, the mysterious and the mundane, we are an ocean of wisdom and whispered secrets.

It is still sinking in, but I keep falling deeper and deeper in love with this little being. It's amazing how primal, visceral and ancient being pregnant feels, yet simultaneously so metaphysical, spiritual and transcendent.  It feels as if I am co-creating a miracle with God, like God has sat down with me and rolled out the blueprints and I've said, "uh huh...yes...that looks great" and then we shook hands.   Experiencing being pregnant is very physical and tangible, but has turned into a very emotional and spiritual journey, not surprisingly.   At 21 weeks, I am over halfway through - it's going by so fast...

Preggasana!

And so a new chapter begins.  Hell, a whole new book!  And the book is called: "Wicked Awesome!" because after almost two years of hoping to get pregnant, I am humbly ecstatic to announce I am finally knocked up!  It wasn't the easiest journey, one that many days of yoga got me through, but it was truly worth the wait.

I conceived right around the time of the Yoga Trance Dance workshop I led.  In fact, if my calculations are correct, I'm pretty sure that on that night, brand new cells were dividing and that makes me thrilled to know that this new magic ball of energy was being formed and created amidst the sacred juiciness of such intense energy, dance, and spirit!   Ah, the power of Trance Dance! :)

Since finding out I was pregnant, yoga has continued to take on a deeper meaning for me.  Every pose, every breath, every chant now has taken on this new layer, sinking deeper beyond my own peace of mind and well being, but as a contribution to the growth and development of this new life.   During the first trimester, I was severely sick and my body revolted, quite literally all day every day ("morning" sickness is a laughably insulting underestimation of a misery that lasts all day, all night and even in your dreams). But, I forced myself, even at my sickest to roll out my mat and breathe, chant and do a little gentle stretching, even if just for 10 minutes. These 10 minutes each day were sometimes the only thing that gave me some sense of stability and strength.

Very gratefully, around 11 weeks or so, the severe nausea and sickness subsided (now replaced with all day long headaches :) and I started feeling more energy and more strength and was able to increase my yoga practice back to 30 - 45 minutes and sometimes an hour (on those rare overachiever days).

In my overzealousness, I ordered a billion prenatal DVDs, and only three of them I actually really enjoy and am doing on a regular basis - Summer Sanders' Prenatal Workout, Yoga Journal's Yoga for Pregnancy, and the very best - the one that I can't get enough of - Gurmukh's Prenatal Kundalini Yoga.  The latter is another one of Gurmukh's masterpieces - an hour long session that instantly makes you feel like you've transported to a peaceful, exotic retreat.  The session is full of challenging physical kundalini moves, but interwoven with spiritual lightness and soulful dialogue.  When you finish, you feel rejuvenated, alive, full of inner strength and completely connected to this little life inside of you.  I would love to meet her someday and do a retreat or training with her.  She's my Sikh version of Shiva Rea I think. :)

On some days, like today, I put on some Shiva Rea music, put my hands on my Buddha belly and just get my groove on.  The headaches make it hard to really get a full out Trance Dance in, but I usually manage to at least get my body moving and connect with this growing belly and all the changes that are happening within.

At 15 1/2 weeks, so much has happened already both outside and in and I still have a long way to go, but I'm taking each day as a gift, as a lesson and on top of it all, as a way to go even deeper into my yoga practice, in a way I never even thought possible. So far, it is an exciting, terrifying and exhilerating journey and I can't wait to see where it takes us!

Namaste (and Jai to the universe!)
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!

Leading Yoga Trance Dance

Recently, I was given the opportunity to lead my first Yoga Trance Dance workshop!  I planned for weeks ahead of time, practicing vigorously, making a lesson plan to last two hours (the time frame the Yoga Studio wanted me to use), and making a corresponding soundtrack that would accompany my workshop to the note, each new song beginning at each new phase of elements.

At first, I was so nervous - more nervous than I get teaching my academic classes for some reason.  But, I was so excited too - so thrilled to share this joy with others - I feel like a born again with Trance Dance - it has truly awakened something in my life and in my yoga practice that is just indescribable.

We began with some introductions - I like to circle to get to know each other briefly since it's such a connective practice - and then I led them through about 15 minutes of meditation and energy work, followed by about 25 minutes of prana yoga - swaying of hips, flowing pigeon (I love that one!), rocking the spine like "calligraphy", the "jackson polluck" of hands like seaweed, painting the floor.  The music intensifies and soon we are deep in the "fire" element, twisting rhythmically to the rapid tribal beat, our breathing heavier and quicker, the heat rising within us.  Now we are doing kundalini yoga - repetitive movements to get that heat going and our energy soaring.  

Then, the drums get louder and the music shifts - we instinctively break off out of our spots, put away our mats and free form dance around the room.   We stomp our feet, lift our hands to the air, sway and swing our arms, turn and twist and curve in every direction - up and down, diagonally, to the earth, to the sky, in circles.  As I'm sure anyone teaching this class would be, I was worried, "What if they don't get into it?  What if they think I'm a crazy loon leaping around the room?"   But, there was no reason to worry.  Soon, they took the reigns and got into their own rhythms, their own stories, their own releases.  Some cried, some roared, some smiled and beamed.   But, we all danced.  We all danced and danced with the emotions, with the rhythm, with the drums, and with each other.    It was magic.

We brought the intensity to a climax with a repeated session of the kundalini "woodchopper" - a prana move of bring the arms overhead and then with a big exhale and "Ha!" pulling them down to the floor or between the legs.   We did this, roaring with each bend, bringing the energy down through our hands and fingertips and as the music stopped, we roared in the contrast of the silence, smiles and release all around. 

Bringing it back down to slow movement meditation and then chanting - Om Namah Shivaya, everyone sat and rocked with their energies and then we went into a very deep yoga nidra, relaxation, followed by breathing and sitting meditation.   I love this contrast after the intensity of the Kundalini Yoga and free form dance - the power of the roaring tribal intensity - and then the quiet silence of relaxation.  It is never more powerful or effective for me than after this particular style of yoga.

Afterwards, I received many smiles, hugs and several questions of "When can we do this again?"   I was over the moon.   This was not just a yoga class, but an experience in connection, in creative flow, one that I am so grateful I was able to learn from Shiva Rea, and now to be able to share with others as well.  

I can't wait to do it again!!!