Among the various lifestyle changes that we’ve made so far during this pregnancy, one has had an especially tangible impact on Wifey’s balance, both literal and figurative (and therefore also my own).
She started doing yoga again.
The “again” is important. To hear her tell it, she had a pretty serious yoga habit before we started dating. By direct association of course that means that it’s my own fault she’s barely gone back since; but what I hadn’t quite realized is that she isn’t just, you know, “into yoga.” She’s a fucking yoga junky, and this baby pushed her right back off the wagon.
She’s like that former smoker who had one drink too many at just one social occasion and the next thing you know he’s back to a pack-a-day habit. She can’t go without her fix. She’s even started proselytizing to other pregnant women around town – or their poor husbands. Last week the guy at the bank who handles my business checking account happened to inform us that his wife is also pregnant, and he immediately received an unsolicited yet flawlessly delivered sales pitch for “Hot Mama” prenatal yoga classes at Nature’s Whisper School of Yoga.
Now I’m doing their marketing too, I can’t help myself. Click the link. It’s an awesome studio.
Joking aside, it’s a marvelous thing to watch her walk in the door when she gets home from yoga every day. She radiates positive energy, confident in her strength and in her ability to bear this baby. She is woman, hear her roar!
Watch out, fellas – yoga doesn’t leave track marks. You never know what you’re getting yourself into.