On Wednesday, I took Bumby to our first mommy-baby yoga class. This class is part of a concerted effort on my part to meet other new moms in the area. Although I over share in writing, I’m actually shy in person and have a reeeeeally hard time putting myself out there to make new friends. However! I want Bumby to socialize with other babies, and I myself am getting so bored around the house alone that yesterday I actually cleaned our furnace room, so I forced myself to go to this class.
I almost turned around in the parking lot. But I did not.
The teacher set up an area for each mommy-baby pair consisting of a mat and a little baby area with three cushiony bolsters to prevent anyone from rolling away, and a blanket in the middle. The other moms dutifully pulled out their own receiving blanket and spread it over the yoga studio’s blanket to set their baby on. I looked in my diaper bag. You know what was in it? A diaper. That’s it. Literally one diaper.
Bumby is a spitter-upper. He can summon vomit from the depths of his digestive system even when it has been hours since his last meal. So there is NO WAY I was setting him on the yoga studio’s blanket without a layer of protection, or it would definitely wind up soaked in my rank, half-digested breastmilk in a matter of minutes.
I pulled out my own yoga mat, which I have been using since 2001 and only washed a handful of times, folded it into fourths and placed it over the blanket, as if this had totally been my intention all along. No really, I always set my baby on things that smell like my foot sweat. Bumby obliged by promptly vomiting on it (I know I am supposed to say “spit up” because it sounds nicer, but this kid vomits. Seriously.). I smiled and wiped it up with his burp cloth. That shit definitely would have soaked through a receiving blanket.
The class started. It was uneventful, for the most part, but fun. There was a little yoga for the moms while the babies hung out in their areas. When they started crying, we did baby massage, which Bumby loved. They had tummy time, which for Bumby usually involves some crying and trying to shove his thumb into his mouth while simultaneously mashing his face into whatever surface he is lying on. But on the way down, he caught sight of the baby across from me, and they both pushed up onto their hands and stared at each other in fascination. “That’s the first time he’s done that!” said the other mom. I told her it was Bumby’s first time too.
Halfway through the class, a sixth mom showed up. “I thought it was at 11:30,” she said apologetically. I love it when other people are at least as half-baked as I am. Another baby cried through almost the whole class and had to be carried around by the teacher. All of this made it more bearable when, about ten minutes before class ended, out of nowhere, Bumby emitted a high-pitched shriek and started clawing at the front of my shirt as if it had been hours since I last fed him, instead of, oh I don’t know, immediately before we left the house. That kid goes from zero to starving in approximately 4 seconds. So we missed our formal relaxation time, but I find feeding Bumby pretty relaxing anyway.
I did not talk much with the other moms, past some little bits of small talk as we bundled our babies into their carseats to leave. (The shy thing.) But it was fun, and unpredictable, and Bumby got to see some babies other than himself. I really can’t wait to go again.