I'm quietly positioned, flat on my back just like the article tells me to. This exercise is to "quiet my mind". Okay, I'm flattening out . . . just a sec', there is a Lego dude poking me in my left butt.
(-Mommy, what are you doing? -I'm breathing, Soren. Leave Mommy alone. -Oh, can I watch you? -No. -I'll just watch you quietly. -Whatever.)
Toss it away. Reflatten. I'm flattening. My belly's just a scooch slidey, though, so I gotta squeeze my ribs together. Sort of makes it so I can't breath, but the article says flatten. Should I be wearing a couple of sports bras?
(-Mommy, for how long are you gonna breathe for? -A long time, I hope. -Oh. long pause Are you still breathing?)
Okay, now it says "begin with a deep belly breath." Now, as a lady, I gotta say this feels a little awkward since it's hard to do a belly breath without the junk in my trunk oodling out a bit. Not to mention, my ribs are squeezy. This all feels a bit counter productive, and painful.
(-Mommy, please can you wipe me? -Be right there, Annike.)
Get this, now I'm supposed to say some thing positive in the form of a word or phrase. But I can't think of anything to say except "Hi, how ya doin'?" Which sets me to laughing. My ribs become unclenched, my boobs start shaking and I go fetal because it still burns across my c-section scar when any sort of effort is applied to my abs.
(-Mama?! Mama?! -She's in here, Petra! -What are you doing, Mama? -She's breathing, you can watch quietly. long pause -Excuse me, I tooted. -You're excused, Annike. giggles ensue)
Next, I'm supposed to exhale out all this negative stuff. Instead I accidentally belch because I just finished giggling, swallowing big heaps of air in the process.
(-Nah-nah? Nah-nah-nah? Ma-ma? then spitting and pulling of my hair)
Okay, so here's my thing, wouldn't a splash of wine be a bit simpler?
2 comments:
Deep cleansing Mommy breath... Deep cleansing Mommy breath...
Amen.
I try to hit the gym during my lunch hour for some "calm" time. Unfortunately, it just puts me behind at work, leaving me in a panic that not everything is going to get done before I have to leave. Then I feel rushed to pick up the kids and by the time I get home I'm completely frazzled.
Wine...wine works much better.
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