Prior to the birth of my oldest child I was active - to say the least. I enjoyed an almost daily yoga practice, followed by a bit of surfing, perhaps some running or biking and rounded off with an evening session at the local climbing gym. I had trained for my first triathlon and attended graduate school. My assumption was that I would return to some truncated form of this lifestyle after the birth of my son. Afterall, I'd managed to continue most of these activities throughout pregnancy.
The demands of motherhood first became a reality when tried out my old jeans after my first son was born. They were the largest jeans I owned and had fit me into the first 5 months of pregnancy. Fully expecting to wear them again, I pulled them out from the back of my closet within days of his birth. Sure I had gained weight during pregnancy, but I reasoned that 7 pounds of it was the baby and several more were amniotic fluid and placenta. All pounds shed during childbirth. How surprised was I when those old jeans didn't stand a chance in covering the lower half of my body! My mind shifted into high gear, developing potential schedules for my new family centered around time for me to "get back out there." I put my plan into action.
Baby boy was breastfed and cloth-diapered. He ate every three hours - meaning three hours from the beginning of his previous feed he was due to eat again. I reasoned that if I woke up to feed him at 6am and did diaper duty straight away, I could be "out there" riding, running or practicing yoga by 7am. Return by 8-ish for a quick shower, a bite to eat and hanging out the nappies before settling in for the next round of breastfeeding. Whew! What a way to begin the morning. And my supportive husband did what he could to help me in this manic effort. This worked for my ego but didn't do much for any other aspect of my life. Beginning my mornings in this way made me anxious to keep on schedule, cranky for lack of sleep and feeling guilty for leaving the prescious new life I had born.
Looking back, I see this time as a desparate attempt to deal with the unknown frontier that is parenthood. It was a defense mechanism to preserve who I had been by preventing the journey towards who I now am. The schedule was demanding, rigid and separated myself from my new baby first thing in the morning in order to live out the storyline I'd had in my head for years about who I am - atheltic, determined, capable, strong, adventurous.
I assume most mothers have this struggle. Recently several of my friends have birthed new babies. They are involved citizens with personal pursuits struggling to reconcile their past with their new present.They look for "me" time. They want to participate. They long for fellowship. They want to wear the old jeans.
The lessons of yoga can be especially helpful for mothers. Motherhood is the time where the "rubber meets the road." A time to put all of those practices on the mat into our daily life off of the mat. Letting go of our past, letting go of what used to be or how we used to be by taking one breath at a time in this new present with a new little life in our hands.We may not make it onto our mats as often as we would like, substituting a forward fold on our mats with a forward fold to pick up a toy. We may skip a run or a bike ride more often taking time instead to walk with baby and explore the world with him. This is our new practice.
We are practicing all of time. Breath by breath, we practice patience. Breath by breath we practice love and compassion. Breath by breath we open ourselves to grace, moving into our current life and letting go of the old stories that we used to tell ourselves about ourselves. We throw out our old jeans. And we become.
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