To The Left (to the left)?!

OK, all you Lefties and Parents-of-Lefties...I need some advice. Since he was old enough for me to pop him up on my hip and haul him around as such, Lincoln has preferred to be on my right side. Always. If I tried to switch him to the left side to balance myself out, or heaven forbid, use my dominant hand to complete a task, he would completely freak out, acting like a little monkey suddenly in fear of being dropped by his mama, crying, yelling, and scrambling back to the right side of me as best he could.

In fact, he still does the exact same thing now, at age 20+ months. I give to you the progression of a typical Oh-NO-You-Didn't! Scramble (which includes, to my horror, but you know, for reality's sake - my own double chin):

This could almost be misconstrued for a smile
which is so not the truth!

On his way!

The D.C. and Linky's true feelings about me trying
to hold him in my left arm. 

So. To all of you with knowledge of Lefthandedness, I ask...is this common? Because Mr. Lincoln is indeed a Lefty, and someone brilliantly suggested to me recently that perhaps he does this because he wants to hold on with his dominant hand/arm (sorry I can't remember who said that and therefore can't give you a proper shout out for said brilliance), so could that be it? He likes right because he uses his left?? 

Pre-yoga, I don't think I would have ever paid attention to this sort of thing, so I have no frame of reference for HD or RL in terms of sidedness. It seems to me that my babies have all preferred the right side to some extent but I figured that was because I tend to that side because it is my stronger one. But hence the need now, post-yoga (wait - not post. what prefix am I looking for there? my brain cells escape me daily thanks to Bambino No.4) to get some darn balance, but no way, no sir, no how - Lincoln's not buying it. 

The glamour shots from above were taken tonight as I tried to make scrambled eggs for dinner and oh. my. You try making eggs using your non-dominant hand! Even of the scrambled variety, it was all just too much so I decided to finally document our little phenomenon and bring it to the people to ask...what is this?! I promise that I've never dropped a baby off my left hip, so why the great aversion to being there? Inquiring minds want to know! 

Field of Dreams?

Lately the hubs and I have been just terrible about staying up late at night. For him it is grading papers from school and the start of baseball season. For me it is the reading, reading, reading quest of my ever-present book list and, on some nights, the mountains of dishes and/or laundry that I've put off for days and finally have to deal with because, you know, people who don't live here are coming to my house the next day and that's about the only thing some weeks that gets me to attack said mountains.

In case you were wondering, the children still get up way too early every day. School also means B & HD have to be out the door bright and early, so why we think staying up late, for any reason, is a good idea is really lost on me. Especially today when I have a jam-packed schedule of teaching but we thought it would be wise to stay up past midnight last night at which point my brain was really on GO! Mode and I should have just kept reading my book because it had to have been close to 2 a.m. before I was finally asleep. Am I rambling? Am I awake? Can't be sure at this point in the day.

All of this is to say, I might be a little out of sorts right now. Ben, too. But we both agreed this morning that we'd have to dig deep today and not let our tiredness turn into pure crankiness, and certainly not directed at the children who would probably prefer us to be more well rested, too (although, if that were really the case, they could also try this fun thing called sleeping in on the weekends. I hear it is great.). Tired and potentially cranky-making factors all considered, we are still at so far, so good for the day. Granted, we've both been caffeinated and were probably counting down the hours until bedtime all day long, but even with self-inflicted sleep deprivation, the Welschies pulled out a pretty good day, in part because we've all been outside, enjoying the fresh, warm air that Spring seems to have (finally) brought for keeps.  Geez - the Faulknerian sentences again. It's like I'm back in Senior Sem at Doane again!

Of course, because this is Nebraska, it was windy again today which kept us close to home this morning, but this afternoon I decided to declare my own little Walk to Work Day which I decided would also be the jumpstart of regular walking that I hope to do from now until the end of my pregnancy. Yoga is awesome, as always, for my body and soul, but since I can't quite do everything I'd like to on the mat right now, I need another way to work and release tension from my physical and emotional states. After today's kick-off, I would say Mission Accomplished, on both accounts.

Since our house is a little over a mile-ish from the studio, I thought walking myself down prior to teaching my second class of the day (prenatal) would be a great idea; the bonus of there being Family Yoga today (i.e. B & the kids would be joining me later and I could catch a ride home) helped. Even with walking into a direct, sometimes rather strong wind, the whole way was enjoyable. It felt good to get moving like that and just be with the thoughts in my head. No music. No phone. No talking. (no books!) I need more of that.

After set up and prep for class, I settled in at the front desk only to realize ten minutes later that no one was coming to join me. This has happened once before since the start of my prenatal class and it just goes to show that even in a town the size of Hastings, getting the word out about a new opportunity can be tricky, especially when said opportunity is directed at such a niche, target audience. I waited a bit longer just to see if any mamas-to-be would breeze in late, but when it was clear I really was on my own for the day, I packed up my things and decided to walk home. If I'd had a book to read, I probably would have stayed there and waited for my next class to start but since The Bump and I enjoyed the walk down, I figured we'd enjoy the walk home, too.

About half-way back, I was trucking along thinking about all the things I could say after surprising my husband by turning up back at home already, some of which included a line of "What am I doing wrong? Why aren't people coming to class?" questions when I quickly realized I needed to stop. Not walking, but that kind of thinking, for sure.

Attendance at a class, whether it is full or a goose egg, is not all about me. There are so many reasons why individuals choose to go to a yoga class (or any fitness class) and while instructor preferences/styles may play a role for some, I know in the end I can only control myself and my actions; I am not powerful enough to control others. And that's a good thing. I don't want to carry that much weight on my shoulders or feel that sort of pressure. I do want to bring my best and strongest offering to each class I teach (yes, even on days after nights that were too late and too short), because that's what I can do - that's what I can control. I can also take ownership of my attitude and response to both full and goose egg days, knowing that so long as I keep showing up, so will others, and again, it is about them, not me.

It was a totally a If-You-Build-It-They-Will-Come-sort-of-pep-talk-to-myself moment.

Before I had gone another block, a helicopter suddenly came into view. It was headed for the helipad at Mary Lanning which I happened to be walking by at that exact time. Along with the intensity of sound that accompanied the chopper, came a huge wave of pregnant-lady-emotions that startled me more than anything. I'm always one to say a quick prayer in my head when I hear sirens (I figure that those at both ends, receiving and giving, need all the good thoughts and well wishes they can get and have been doing this for most of my adult life), and having lived near enough to ML for long enough, I now do the same whenever I hear helicopters, too. Today had to be a first, though, of having one come in to land directly over top of me. Among the rush of thoughts that went through my mind were: "Holy crap. That is scary-loud noise."; "What if that thing is flying in for somebody I know?!"; "I need to call everyone I love and tell them what they mean to me!" (which, for the record, I did not do).

OK. Laugh if you like, because those are some pretty dramatic reactions (may I refer you back to the aforementioned pregnant-lady emotions and lack of sleep???), but my eyes welled up with tears and my throat got super tight as watching the helicopter go over head instantly put everything about the day into perspective. I am blessed that my family has never needed such medical attention. I am blessed to live in a place where I can walk to work without constant fear of fights or gunfire. I am blessed to do work that fills my soul and continues to teach me about life, even when the days do not go as planned. I am blessed.

Thankfully I also had a handful more blocks to go so I could let my weepies and sniffles come and go before I had to take off my sunglasses and talk to other people. The walk gave me just the right amount of perspective, not to mention exercise, and big dose of gratitude. Not bad for a day of running on just four-ish hours of sleep.

Post Script: Day Two of Walking Mama

Day Two after a crappy night of sleep is usually my worst. I'm at my most sluggish, most cranky. Today should have been that day. It doubly should have been that day (wait, triple, because Hi, Monday) as Ben has been gone all evening/for part of the night yet for parent/teacher conferences. PTC nights always mean long days for me because not only am I running herd on the herd all day by myself, but I then have to do supper and bedtime for all three solo, too [to be a single parent? I cannot imagine.]. Because bedtime is so not my thing, these nights sometimes feel extra tedious, especially if I am on a Day Two of Tired.

In today's case, I am grateful for PTC and the rest of the busy week that lies ahead. Because of our hectic schedule this week, I looked in advance for a babysitter who could come today and relieve me for a bit so I could in fact charge through a long day/evening and still have something left for the rest of the week, too. That this foresight happened to help on a Day Two? Well, as Ben says, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.

Luck also came my way with today's picture perfect spring day weather. Warm sun, gentle breeze, gorgeous smelling trees (although most are a bit overpowering for my pregnant super sense of smell) - the day was begging for a walk. And so, once the sitter arrived and was ready to take on the kids for a bit, I left to go for a walk around the park. Again, no music, no distractions. Just walking and enjoying and even running into a friend on the way home from picking up her own Little from school which was such a lovely bonus - it was all fabulous.

As for the rest of the evening? Well, we spent some time in the yard, ate supper, played a bit more outside (perhaps not the best idea for Lincoln who was super mad at me for then making him come in to get ready for bed), and then did the whole good night thing with very little drama. No one yelled, screamed, or cried. Not even me. ;) Once again, walking saves the day.

The Comeback Kid

I'm beginning to think that Harrison needs a theme song. I may be decent with words, but jingles? Not so much. As of right now, the best I can do is mimic the commercials for the "Priceline Negotiator" and really, we should probably just leave it at that because without a doubt, this kid keeps (and will continue to keep for many, many years) us on our toes at all times with his mad logical skills. I could also quote a Miley Cyrus song, however that would mean admitting to having ever heard sung along with such awfulness, but again, really? He can't stop. And he won't stop. His memory is just too big and his vocabulary seems to be surpassing it on a constant basis.

Classic examples of my little Negotiator who sometimes seems to be too big for his skinny-legged britches (another truth we must face? he's got his daddy's long legs and finding pants that fit is also going to be challenging in the years ahead)? Let me give you a couple gems from, I kid you not, the last 36 hours:

Post-egg hunt at my parents' house on Easter morning, during which the children discovered various outdoor toy goodies left for them by the Easter Bunny along with the plethora of plastic eggs (because, let's face it, the E.B. dropped the ball and so had to rely on some gifts from the grandparents presented in Hunt fashion as opposed to baskets but totally works when your littles are still little enough to believe in things like said E.B.), a bubble blowing machine that the kids found was having a tough time of blowing any bubbles. You can imagine the dismay of a 3 and 5 y/o at such a turn of events, no? The toy had actually been at my folks' for a while, but was still unopened which is why we added it to the morning's loot, so when it failed to work, and we were wondering about the quality of batteries found within, my mom chimed in, "They probably need to be changed. That thing is like three years old." Which instantly caused my dear sweet Harrison to whip his head super fast to look at her and ask (in a pretty accusatory tone for a preschooler, I might add) "How do you know?!?!" Whoops! You got us there, kid!

Fast forward a handful of hours and the Welschies were so close, SO close, to being back home in Hastings, but clearly not close enough as all 5.5 of us had a very long trip back after our long weekend spent in SoDak. B and I thought it would be good to travel post-Easter dinner in hopes that kiddos would nap and we would still get home in time for supper and bedtime and all would be well. Oh, how wrong you can be as a parent.

Nothing awful, exactly, happened on the drive home, but our hopes and dreams of some peace and quiet in the car thanks to snoozing children quickly disappeared not 30 minutes into the drive when HD and RL were having pillow and stuffed animal fights and therefore a grand giggle fest in the back seat of the van, egging each other on to ignore their books and any and all commands, demands, potential rewards and consequences (i.e. losing Kindle. And stuffed animals. And blankets.) coming from B and I at the front of the van, and of course, there was the whole not-sleeping thing. For two type-A/first-borns/planners, this particular defeat was a rough one.

Linky, bless his heart, did sleep on the way home, but only for 45 minutes because then Raegge's bladder, which was also still very much not napping peacefully just like the rest of her, decided we needed to stop which of course woke Lincoln instantly. And we still had well over half of our trip to go. Yay.

So clearly by now, this post has turned from quirky notes about Harrison into full-blown post-vacation tirade on my part, but you know, you needed some background to understand just how done we all were as we rolled back into town late yesterday afternoon....

As we were a mere ten blocks from the sanctuary of our own house, Ben all of the sudden realized that the oldest two were now (playfully, but still) messing around by tugging RL's blanket (which was returned in the acceptance of oh-eff-it-clearly-you-are-not-going-to-sleep) back and forth and saying something about cutting each other. Lovely, eh? So Ben calls out from the passenger seat for them to knock it off and "change their language!" and, without missing a single beat, HD replies, "You mean like change from English to Spanish or something like that?"

I tried. I really, really tried, not to bust out laughing at that, but really? Where does he come up with this stuff?! As I let a big burst of air out of my cheeks, Ben tried to talk over me so the kids wouldn't hear me laughing so hard, and then, finally, blessedly, we pulled into our driveway and moved on to other similarly entertaining but escaping me at the moment shenanigans with The Comeback Kid.

We love him (and his literal/figurative smart mouth) so! 

Everybody Knows My Name?

As a Jennifer born in the 1980s, I had no shortage of name sharing/confusion as a kid. Not that my name itself was confusing, but identifying which Jennifer I was always included my last initial which was fine. It was what it was and became exactly why 27 Jennifers by Mike Doughty has been a beloved song of mine for years:

Jenny M. That was me. Until 6th grade (or was it 5th? - c.r.a.p. I am getting old if I can't remember that detail) when a bunch of us Jennifers of Lincoln Elementary banded together and decided to take charge. We would all be a different version (spelling) of Jenny and it just so happened that I ended up with the "I" on the end of mine instead of the "Y" and my parents totally went with it (unlike some friends who tried for more, um, unique spellings and were totally denied by their parental units, or maybe just got sick of the change in time and went back to Jenny ___). Me? I ran with this new approach to my name and never looked back. And I know it is a wee bit silly because you can't hear a darn bit of difference when you say "Jenni" versus "Jenny" but I can definitely tell you which one looks like my name and which one does not when I see it written.

Perhaps this whole name game from my youth is adding to the confusion I feel now as a parent because I am extremely befuddled as to why my children have decided to call me by completely different names. Maybe other moms out there don't really care what their kids call them or don't care if the name is constantly changing. But to me, my mom name is Mama. Ben and I started calling me that from the very beginning with Harrison and while HD will throw a Mom my way every now and then, we're 5.5 years into knowing me as Mama. Except Raegan, for well over a year, has been calling me Mommy and I just don't get it. I never refer to myself this way and like Jenny-with-a-"y" it sounds funny to me to hear myself referenced as such. I won't even bother asking if my response to this whole situation is normal because my guess is no, it's not - I've just picked something weird to get hung up on, but actually, that's my point.

After months of (semi-passive-aggressive?) attempts to correct RL (never telling her she is wrong but referring to myself in third person a LOT in hopes of showing her the light but obviously failing), I've decided to let it go. If Baby Girl wants to call me Mommy nine times out of ten, then that is what she's going to call me. It probably makes sense, actually, that my kids would have different names for me because while I am a mother to all of them, our individual relationships are unique and what they need from me on a daily basis is never the same.

So Mama/Mommy/Ma (which is where Linky is currently with a name for me)? They all work. They all represent the role I so gratefully get to play in the lives of these growing, learning, always going individuals and I am honored to be that person to each of them, no matter what they call me. Well, not Hey, You!. That version (and life with teens) is probably coming sooner than I think, but whatever mom name(s) the children decide upon as they grow is going to have to start with an "M" - I'm too much of an English Major to let all rules and convention slide!

An oldie but a goodie: "Mommy" and her Mini. 

Forgetting Finland? Forget It.

Years ago I stumbled upon an adorable little notebook designed specifically to keep track of all the cute/funny/ridiculous/oh-please-never-let-me-forget-this things that kids say as they grow.

I've used it all of like, maaaaaaybe 10 times. *sigh*

It's not that I don't absolutely love the concept of the notebook, but the moments when I think "Oo! I should write that down!" are never the moments when I am actually near the notebook, pen-in-hand, ready to record the totes adorbs-ness of my wee ones. At times, I've written whole posts dedicated to toddler-isms and those are fun, but again, I just don't do it on a regular enough basis, so I know some of these funny phrases are going to fade out both from usage and my memory, and eventually Raegan will learn to say "Surprise!" instead of "Ka-Prize!", and I won't remember just how many times Lincoln really said "UP!" and "NO!!!" in one day (we'd be horrified if we'd actually count, especially the second one), or Harrison will no longer refer to events as happening "accidentally-maybe-on-purpose-actually" and so on.

In the spirit of keeping my Littles little, I want to do a bit more of so-called record keeping, documenting their budding personalities and passions, both in the words/phrases they use and in the totally-random-but-how-did-I-not-see-this-coming stories of raising my little future interrogators.

Today's entrainment stemmed from a conversation between HD and myself during lunch, after he was dropped off from preschool and while RL & LT were upstairs napping. This is our mid-day routine pretty much every day, and it is pretty much awesome because I get some one-on-one time with him right after he gets home from school and we get to chat and eat together before we both go our separate ways for screen time (or, in my case, a nap) (and P.S. you know I'm kidding right? I don't actually abandon him while he plays on the Kindle). Typically I don't get a whole lot of info out of him as he mows down his food, but this afternoon sparked a series of questions that I now fear is never going to end.

Because we know some friends planning a trip to Disney World, HD spent the first part of our lunch asking me about what Disney World actually is. And once he put two and two together to realize that it is basically a big playground populated by some of the characters most beloved by children in the history of children, it wasn't more than 15 seconds before he asked, "Is there an Angry Birds Land???" because, let's face it - that's where his heart is/was/and will perhaps forever be.

Being the tech-savvy mama that I am, I instantly took to Google-fu to find out that yes, yes there IS an Angry Birds Land, which I showed him via pictures on Google Images and a random video of a teenager reviewing some new rides on youtube (one of those parenting moments that could have been horrible because I did not view it prior to showing to my 5yo, but which fortunately turned out to be harmless except for that fact that it made my 5yo want to go to there even more so than before and sooner, too.). But for the life of me, I could not freaking figure out where on earth this said Land actually resides. The double dots (ha! I'm sure there is a proper term for those, but are you kidding me? this baby in my belly is taking brain cells by the second. I'm lucky I have any words in my own language left!) were a pretty good indicator, though, that we were screwed because there was no way that meant the Lower 48, you know?

After some more investigating, I finally figured out that the location is in fact Finland. I think. Again, see the above note about brain cells. But pretty sure it's something Scandinavian, which man, I would love to visit that part of the world, but are you kidding me?! Why does Angry Birds Land have to be in Scandinavia?!

In an attempt to explain to HD just how far away Finland is from Nebraska, I pulled up a world map next to show him that we would have to go over an ocean to get there and that would be hard because it would take a really long time and cost a LOT of money, which of course led to the questions of how long? and how much? which in turn lead to me pulling up Priceline and finding the answers: over a day of travel and a mere $1200 for one adult to get to Helsinki (which, for the record, I have no proof is actually even geographically close to ABL or not).

Of course none of my lesson in Internet research made a lick of difference in terms of actually getting said 5yo to accept that we probably aren't going to ABL any time soon/ever. In fact, the whole quest seemed to latch in his brain even more after seeing the images and I heard about very little else the rest of the day. I was thrilled - elated, I tell you! - for Ben to get home after school so I could go to my dentist appoint to have my teeth cleaned (not even kidding) and laughed myself out the door as I listened to HD tell B, "It's Fin-LIND not Fin-LAND, Daddy." Oh, the things a young boy can learn in an afternoon.

He wants to go next week, by the way, for my birthday, or for a Special Mama and Harrison Date, or maaaaaaaybe, he'll be okay with going on the 30th of the month. But really, that's probably too long to wait if you really ask him.

I would say, let's just hope The Next Big Thing comes along soon, but seeing how long he's been on the Angry Birds kick itself, I do not have high hopes of forgetting Finland any time soon.

Women Need Women

This morning at MOPS, our group heard ideas, answers, and advice from two of our Mentor Moms - women who have moved to the next stage of parenting (have adult children) and who can come to meetings to do any number of tasks which include listening, holding babies, and sharing their own wisdom from the Been There/Done That perspective. I've had the joy of being paired with women truly worthy of the title Mentor in the past and it was so good this morning to hear what they had to say about everything from how to handle tantrums to the Great Holiday Divide (totally a different subject/blog post, but wow. Good stuff and good discussion). But of everything that we talked about at this morning's meeting, it was these three words said by a member of the Mentor panel that jumped up and grabbed my heart: women need women. 

Have you ever heard anything more true? I don't know that I have, with the exception of a longer version of the very same concept that a friend shared online a few months ago. There's no way I can possibly paraphrase her and do her ideas justice, so I give to you the post itself:

"Ladies: Always surround yourself with women who let you be yourself. If you feel inferior around your people, they are not your people. If you dress differently, sit quit when you normally have something to say, feel bored, feel icky...You run like hell from these women. Although we are SUPPOSED to belong to each other, there are some who do not want you to belong. And my loves, it's not you. It's in their heart. Your women will tell you when you're wrong, they will hear your cries, they will shake you awake, they will call you beautiful. If you cannot share your deepest secrets with your women, they are not your women. If they laugh at you when you get a crazy idea, they are not your women. If they let you run around acting like a complete wench, they are not your women. Your best friends will see every part of you. They will invest in you, and you invest in them. A friendship deserves honesty and rawness and hurt and laughter. If you cannot tell your friend she hurt you, she's not your friend. If you pick up the phone and there's nothing to talk about, hang up the phone. She's not your woman. Our friendship to one another is important. Choose wisely. And when you get strong, you pull others in so they can belong, too." 

Isn't that spot on the best thing ever for a woman to write/believe/do? I think so, and I shared it on Facebook right after I originally read it because, seriously people, at some point we deserve to leave middle school. There is no reason we have to remain stuck in the hormonal hell of young adolescence, constantly trying to win the love and affection of others. Wondering if they like us. If we are good enough. We are good enough. But we need each other and if we can't be good to each other, we need to move on. That is the most simple and most pure way I can describe what it means to find your tribe, the women you need and who need you in return.

Two of my favorite writers, Glennon from Momastery and Patti Digh (of Life is a Verb fame), both write on this idea of tribes and what it means to have one. They both believe it is vital to have people in your life who can in fact, be your people. Your tribe might be members of your family or friends you have known forever, or maybe it is someone you just meet at the grocery store last week. Your tribe consists of those who know you, get you, and love you all the same. And sometimes it is really freaking hard to find these souls.

A few years ago, reading or having someone tell me I needed a tribe would have made me burst into tears. OK, it doesn't take much to do that, but this would have been the ugly cry sort of tears because in early motherhood I felt isolated and withdrawn way more than I felt connected, seen, or heard. It doesn't help that I am huge introvert (aren't most people who love to write?) and the thought of forcing myself to be social in order to meet women who could be my BFFs was terrifying. I mean, no pressure, right?!

Slowly but surely, though, I have made progress in the whole leave-your-house/make-some-friends journey.  This has meant I've had to both accept offers from others when given and extend invitations of my own to new people I meet or sometimes to old acquaintances I want to know better (and truth, all of the above can be out of my comfort zone). Over the last few years, I have met some interesting women. Some amazing. Some who came into my circle, my tribe, and stayed close. And some who came in for a time and then moved on, because let's face it,  once you get up the courage to put yourself out there to define your tribe, actually recognizing those who know, get, and love you all the same sometimes takes time. Being vulnerable and taking that time, though, are vital because women need women.

None of us were meant to go this road alone, whether we are SAHMs, working moms, pet parents, or "just" women (there is nothing "just" about being a woman or a person for that matter - it's all pretty freaking challenging from what I can see). We need each other to listen, see, accept, support, love, nurture, challenge, and need us. I believe you can be the most independent and confident person in the world and you will still need a tribe of a few who can be and do these things for you because without connection, what is the point? For some people, this support might take the shape of a spouse or significant other. I have an amazing one of those and I tell you honestly, I still need a tribe. My husband knows me, gets me, and loves me all the same, but without friends who can do the same, my heart is not as full as it could be. This is why I continue to put myself out there, to make connections with other women as I make my way (sometimes striding, sometimes stumbling) through this world. It is the grace and love I can give to these women and that which I receive in return that makes the trying and trying again so very much worth it.

No woman alone. There are those out there who deserve a spot in your tribe. Those who know, get, and love you all the same.

Backslide

Within six hours of my last post, at the start of last week, my Lenten Promise  was clearly shot. It's hard to commit to a daily yoga practice, even just for 10-15 minutes a day, when you can't breathe or stop blowing your nose for days, and have a fever for over 48 hours straight. Just getting through Tuesday through Thursday of last week was a challenge and that was without even leaving my house once in that time span. So no, no yoga for me last week (I even missed multiple days of teaching which has been very rare since I began last fall), because once I got my feet back on the ground, it was all I could do to keep up with getting my house back in functioning shape and food on the table and all that other maternal/spousal/adult stuff I am expected to do in this world.

Now it is Wednesday, two weeks beyond Ash Wednesday, and I haven't done any of my own practice in eight or nine days (Math. Blergh.) - not exactly a shinning start to 40 Days of Yoga. I can feel it, too, because whereas at the time of my last post I was feeling pretty good (was totally doing my best to ignore warning signs of impending doom in my sinuses), I am back to noticing the not-so-good in both my body and my mood. Back and hips? Stiff and creaky. Mind and attitude? Wee-bit sour and cranky.

At least I have an immediate answer and fix to this. I just have to step up and really recommit because this is a big week (big month, actually) of taking on some extra classes to teach and when you top that with the hubbub of activity we have going on this March, it's going to be April and Easter before we know it, and I do not want to get lost in the whirlwind. I know myself well enough to know that this much is true:

I cannot let my teaching schedule (or social calendar, etc.) get in the way here. Somehow I've also got to find a way to get past The Naps which is what I'm calling my No.1 pregnancy indicator (symptom seems like a poor word choice, but you get my drift) (and truth, it's probably No.2 because, let's face it, CrankyPants is my No.1) these days. I am so freaking tired all day long that I have been falling asleep on the couch even when the kids are playing - loudly - right in front of me. These bizarre cat naps do not actually result in great rest and often I wake up from them feeling super groggy and downright confused at times, but it's like I can't help it.

A baby in the belly means I don't sleep well at night and apparently my body has decided that it's going to make up for that deficit during the day, whether I intend to or not. And somedays this happens two or three times! Good practice for when Baby arrives? Maybe, except for that whole supposed-to-be-parenting-the-other-children gig I've got going on....

Unless I relinquish full control to PBS (and there's no way that works for a peanut LT's age), this current approach just isn't going to work. Here's hoping instead that the whole Second Trimester Energy Boost (it should totally be a proper noun) comes SOON!