Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Say What?

I took Monty to yoga for the first time yesterday.  His pediatrician says it's time for him to be taking classes to, you know, stimulate his brain or whatever.  He suggested "baby yoga", which I Googled and found out was this:

Ima go ahead and assume he meant Mommy and Me yoga.

So, I took him to Golden Bridge where I still have a bunch of prepaid classes left from when I was taking prenatal yoga.  Golden Bridge is a SUPER hippie dippie yoga studio in Hollywood where everyone pretends to like coconut water and painfully contorting their bodies, and where, on the patio you can hear Hollywood types gossiping about directors cheating on their famous wives with starlets over a plate of mungbeans and rice.

Between the pinched nerve in my spine and Monty's insistence on nursing every 5 minutes, I missed a good 80% of the exercises.  But whatever, the classes are already paid for. 

There were four of us in the class and the instructor and her two dogs (which she brought because of their healing energy.).  Before the class began we chatted about milestones.  The instructor said her daughter was walking at 8 months.  I said I would imagine that would be hard because at that age a baby can't understand you, so it's hard to keep them away from dangerous things.  I have a friend whose baby was running at full speed by nine months.  It wasn't easy.

"Oh, no!" The instructor said as though I had said I thought all kittens should be drowned to death.  "No, no!  They can understand you.  Babies can understand you in utero."  Which launched everyone in to a one upmanship about how they read Tolstoy to their babies and they never say anything bad about anyone in front of their babies because their babies know what they're saying and will become mean people if they hear us disparaging anyone.  Because god forbid we have a negative feeling.

I talk to Monty ALL DAY.  "I'm washing these dishes so we can make more dirty ones!"  "I'm going to take a shower because I stink."  "I'm going to go put some makeup on so I don't feel like such a hideous troll."  I talk to him about what we see on our walks.  "Look, Monty!  A truck!  A truck!  A big, red truck!  Wow, that truck is LOUD!  I have a college diploma!"  I can finally talk to myself in public without feeling self conscious.  "What's that?  Oh, I was just explaining to my 6-month-old that people in Los Angeles seem to think Stop signs are just suggestions."  I talk to him because I think maybe it will help him with his vocabulary.  I don't know.  But that kid has NO IDEA what I'm saying to him.  Trust me.  When I tell him the bottle is empty he's not like, "Oh, cool.  Okay."  No, he just keeps reaching for it and sucking down air.

Kind of like if someone started speaking to me in Chinese I wouldn't know what the hell they were saying.  Because I don't speak Chinese.

At the end of class the instructor asked us to share any thoughts or questions about parenting.  I said I was struggling to figure out how to schedule things like yoga or any other kind of activity in between Monty's naps which are about two hours apart.

I was told I need to "honor" my baby and follow his cues.  To "listen to his heart" rather than to what a book says.  

"Yeah," I said.  "It seems to me like his cues are telling me he's tired every couple of hours..."

One of the other moms said, "I used to get really obsessed with all the books and with doing everything 'right', but then I just decided to let Windsong just be herself.  I can't change her."

"Yeah," I said again.  "I totally get that.  I don't read the books anymore either.  What I'm saying is, my son APPARENTLY needs to nap every couple hours and I don't know how to schedule much around that."

Another said, "My friends all know that I'm going to be late.  I'm like, 'We have to meet RIGHT NOW' or I'm, like, an hour late."

"Right, but, yoga, for example, is scheduled for 12:30.  It's an hour and half.  If I'm an hour late, I'm missing the whole class.  See what I'm saying?"

"You just have to go with the flow!"

I decided to read the cues of the women in the class.  I listened to their hearts.  They said, "Your six-month-old understands everything you say.  We, on the other hand, have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

You got a little something on your face.