Before the twins were born I spent a lot of days at the yoga studio trying clear my mind, center my universe and lose those final ten pounds. I gotta say, I got pretty damn good at those tree poses, cobras and warrior positions. I relished in the ninety minutes of “me time” that yoga provided me and I was even learning to still my ever racing mind, something I never dreamed I could do.
Then I got preggers with identical twins and went on hiatus from yoga and activity in general. At about twenty weeks pregnant I exchanged my chair poses for couch surfing and shifted my focus from stretching and meditation to incubating and survival. The girls were born at thirty-six week, a glorious accomplishment by identical twin standards. Those early days weren’t pretty, but we all made it through. I recovered fairly quickly, surprisingly much faster than I did with the first two kids and started the slow climb back to strength and fitness. I walked, I jogged and by one year postpartum I was running three miles a day on the treadmill. I looked better than I had ever looked since the kids started coming and thought it was high time to return to sweaty Sun Salutations.
I tried to channel my inner Yogi, but I just couldn’t locate her. She had apparantly flown the coup along with my dreams of sleep and size two jeans. Accepting my defeat I returned to the treadmill and life went on at warp speed. I kept my jogging and breastfeeding up and the compliments just kept on flowing.
“I can’t believe how amazing you look after twins!”
“No way do you have four kids!”
“You gave birth a year ago! Holy buckets!”
I’m not sure, but I think new moms can actually live on compliments such as these. The twins turned two and I stopped breastfeeding like a boss and started spending more time at the computer. It didn’t take long for fit and trim to dissolve into rolls and jelly. Was I obese? Nope. I was not even overweight, certainly not by American standards. Regardless, I sure didn’t feel like a hot mama. I tried to up my treadmill lobbing but my body wasn’t having it. I’m pretty sure that one random Tuesday evening I heard my treadmill whisper, “Been there, done that. Welcome to middle age. Try harder.”
A Blogging Good Time
A Blogging Good Time