Saturday, 21st May 2016
This picture was just too lovely not to put up!
Teddy and I have been going to baby yoga since he was a mere 9 week whippersnapper. From the start we have enjoyed it very much (Teddy so much so that in our very first class he celebrated with an extravagant poo-splosion right through his nappy and all his clothes onto me. Joy).
We attend YogaBubs classes in Norwich - highly recommended to any local readers. Jackie is an engaging teacher and her classes are always fun. And if you are lucky, she will take a grizzling baby away for a few minutes at the end of a class so you can relax and zzzzzz... More than that though, baby yoga was the first class we did, the first regular appointment we had to get ourselves to, and the first time we had to be in a room with other mums and babies. Without that obligation, I suspect we'd have stayed at home for weeks.
Teddy now knows all the songs, has his definite favourite moves (flying baby is a particular crowd pleaser - and a welcome alternative form of the dreaded tummy time) and still finds the other babies quite fascinating. I feel more like myself every week we go, and more confident in our ability to get around and about without disaster, tantrums or poo-splosion. And, since we are in the same class as several lovely ladies with whom I did antenatal yoga (sooooo, so long ago!) I have found new friends to share the trials and tribulations (and triumphs) of pregnancy and parenthood.
It is so easy to want to stay in all day, every day, confined to the house with your beautiful, needy, loud baby - worried about the judgement of others if you have to breastfeed in public, or if the baby cries, or about where you'll change a nappy or warm a bottle up. Don't. Get out. Book a class. Go for a coffee. Do it.
And if your baby learns to fly in the process - bonus.
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