Mama Cat Yoga

When I'm not pregnant, I like to practice Ashtanga yoga. Sometimes, even while pregnant, if I'm feeling particularly energetic, I like to practice some Ashtanga. (Ashtanga is a more athletic type of yoga, where you breathe through your nose while you move into and out of poses.) Some people do Ashtanga all the way through their pregnancy. In my opinion, those people are CRAZY. In my pregnant state, I can't do very much Ashtanga because some of the major poses give me heartburn. Also, as my belly grows bigger and bigger, it is increasingly hard to stand on one leg and put the other ankle up behind my head, my hands gently touching in prayer at my heart center. Just kidding. (I can't do that pose even when I'm not pregnant.)

There is another reason why I don't practice Ashtanga yoga very much in my present state: the only conceivable way to complete the poses at home without interruption is to pretend to be a cat while doing them.

I'll explain:

At nearly two-and-a-half, Clara has hit a developmental stage rich in imaginative play. She'll run around the playroom pretending to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. In the bath, she'll be a fish or a swimmer stuck at sea, gulping air, wagging her head back and forth and desperately thrashing about to survive pretend killer waves. She even pretends to be me sometimes, scrubbing out the kitchen sink (standing on a chair to reach it), and muttering about "germies."

Mostly though, Clara pretends to be a "baby kitty." She has herds of imaginary cats she talks to during nap-time. She often prefers to make a "cat nest" from her blankets rather than lying under them, and sometimes she even drops to all fours on the city sidewalk and starts meowing.

From me, Clara demands a certain collusion in her kitty reality. Well, she doesn't quite demand it, but if I participate in her version of reality, I can complete whichever tasks I wish with minimal interruption. Which is why I often find myself crouching on the floor, folding laundry with my "paws," and mewling intermittently (Mama cats don't have opposable thumbs, therefore I must weld my fingers together and manipulate towels, underwear and T-shirts with my wrists. And I must put the clean, unfolded laundry down on the carpet because, what cat do you know can fold laundry while standing on her hind legs?)

And yesterday I found myself at the top of my yoga mat, chanting not the "Ohmmmmmmm" to the opening Ashtanga mantra, but a "Mee-oooowww." "Meow" does lend itself to that kind of chanting, I have to confess, because it's rich in vowels.