Namaste? Try Namastink!

Image Credit CC: Lyn Tally

Picture it, if you will, a small mood-lit room. The smell of incense wafts through, its calming tendrils wrapping around each of the women as they stroke their ever-growing baby bumps.

Their long limbs, gently stretched for the past hour, now lie still, beginning the meditation.

It is then that I feel it. Deep down.

It isn't the inner peace that I've been searching for. There is no enlightenment, no nirvana, no spiritual awakening.

I try my hardest to refocus on my breath. In and out. In and out.

But it is no use. There is no meditative state for me tonight. The relaxation achieved from the past hour is now gone, replaced by a mounting anxiety.

It continues to stir inside. The feeling grows...

Oh my gawd. This is going to happen and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

It happens.

I let rip in to the silence of the yoga room.

The smell is thankfully masked my the feet of the woman in front of me. But her feet didn't just loudly herald their arrival so I'm not sure which is worse.

My saving grace is that I am in the back row and other than the women on either side of me no one would really be able to tell whose bottom trumpeted. Unless they turned around and noticed I was now the same colour as the beet red bolsters, of course.

The meditation is over and while the other women slowly rise from their unpronounceable yoga positions, I leap up, grab my keys and high tail it out of there to the safety of my car. Where I find the relaxation that was alluding me. Of course meaning I fart again.

Fuck, pregnancy is so glamorous.

Tell me where you've loudly bum trumpeted. Go on, it will make me feel better.

A pain in the ...

For the last couple of weeks my right hip has been really sore to the point where I limp when I walk. After a quick consult with a physiotherapist at the antenatal classes I decided to go and have it checked out properly since it didn't appear to be going away on its own accord. So today I toddled off to a physiotherapist that specialises in antenatal and postnatal issues, partly because the woman I spoke to at the antenatal class worked there and partly because these hips have a lot of work to do soon and I don't want anyone screwing them up any further!

My pain started in my sit bones... that's right people, its basically my bum. Typical. I would be the one to get bum pain. I'm reminded of Sharon Osborne who, after being diagnosed with colon cancer said “Why'd they have to find it in my bum, of all places? It's embarrassing. I mean, why couldn't I have a cute little heart shaped polyp on my vagina?” Not that I'm comparing hip pain to colon cancer, but you get my point – why there?!

The pain has been getting worse and has now moved around the front too, and instead of a dull ache its more of a sharp shooting pain that makes it look like I've just stepped on a piece of glass. On the upside, the limp disguises the waddle marvellously. It is also starting to aggravate my previously broken coccyx – broken, I might add, by Hubby's knee one night about two and a half years ago while he was having a particularly violent dream. To make it worse, he didn't even wake up when he did it!

The diagnosis?

Pelvic instability and more specifically a rotated Sacroiliac joint in turn causing Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (whomever named that really liked the letter Y, I think). Which basically means my hips are moving in directions they shouldn't be.

The cause?

Well I have always had really lax ligaments (meaning that if they gave them out, I'd get a gold star at every yoga class for most resembling a pretzel) and if you combine that with the Relaxin hormone getting me ready for birth you have a pretty good chance of sore hips.

The treatment?

About half an hour of excruciating “massage” of my hip followed by the application of strapping tape. Yes, dear readers, my ass is taped up. It looks highly amusing, like I've accidentally sat down on someone's discarded ankle strapping. I'm tempted to drop my dacks just to show people how silly it looks. “Excuse me? Hi, you don't know me, but check out my butt, isn't it hilarious?!”

I go back in a few days time to have the whole thing done again, but until then I have some exercises to do and the instruction to not put my legs at a right angle to my body. This is simple to fix, I just sit on cushion to elevate my hips above my knees – but cushion sitting does make look like I've got haemorrhoids. I guess its the price I'll have to pay.

The prognosis?

A few sessions and taping is apparently all I'll need to get my hip in working order... funnily enough the lax ligaments that have caused the pain in the first place mean it will be quicker and easier to fix! Hooray for me.

Did you or your partner have any pregnancy ailments? Did you have to have your bum strapped too?

Pregnancy has turned me in to an old man

If I was standing next to an old man its quite possible you would have trouble telling us apart. The belly could be mistaken for a beer gut, so if it wasn't for the enormous pregnancy-enhanced breasts I'd be offered a senior's discount wherever I went. I've morphed from being a normal 20-something in to a geriatric within a few short months.

Another mummy-to-be and I were discussing this phenomenon at yoga the other day. The old man symptoms have crept up on us but are now full blown:

Walking pharmacy
I take so many different tablets now that my local pharmacy has increased it's profit margin by at least 200% on my sales alone. Whilst I'm not your standard old geezer meds like panadol osteo or warfarin, I too, rattle when I walk
Heart burn & indigestion
On top of all those pills inside me that sound like someone playing the maracas in the distance, I always have a stash of Quick Eze or Rennie's on hand for when Tricky starts playing with matches again. At yoga a few of us even have them sitting next to our mats ready for an attack during 'downward dog'
Slow and steady
Walking pace is a subjective concept – for me its more of a 'hobbling pace' and then only when supported by a handrail. I'm considering investing in a walking frame mainly so that I can have a seat with me at all times for when I get tired
Complain, whinge, moan
I'm generally a patient person... not any more. I catch a bus and train to and from work and the number of bloody teenagers that stare at me through their long emo fringes from the comfort of their seat while I stand, glaring back at them, is astounding! The little buggers on their 50c fares... As you can see, I get a little worked up about it. If it's not 'kid's these days' then its the weather.
Dither dother
As I explained earlier, the mumnesia has hit me hard. I liken it to early stage dementia
Strange obsessions
Like most preggos suffering baby-brain when it comes to baby related things I'm sharp as a tack. Old men may prattle on about trains and the war, my talents lie in being able to tell you the fibre content of that muffin you're eating, the names of all the pain relief drugs available in birth (by both their manufacture name and brand name) and can also reel off a list of statistics on birth interventions. Yes, I'm that boring.

I'm prepared to acknowledge that I've just listed the qualities of a stereotype, but hey, stereotypes are based in fact a lot of the time. Just look at the pregnant woman stereotype – fits like a glove!

Ommmm

Apparently birthing a baby (as opposed to delivering one, because that just sounds like I could stick Tricky in an express post bag and drop him in to the nearest post office) is a rather physical job that can require hours of strange positions leading to physical exhaustion. So what's a gal with no Glow and even less muscle tone to do? Prenatal Yoga, that's what!

I wasn't sure what to expect as I attended my very first yoga session ever with YogaSpace. Would there be incense and candles? Chanting and singing the praises of the glorious womb? Would all the other women be really experienced, getting their ankles behind their heads? And just how unattractive would I look in leggings?

The first of my fears were allayed when the instructor Janelle explained a few of the basic rules of the class:

1. if it hurts, stop
2. if you think its about to start hurting, stop
3. if you feel dizzy, stop
4. if you need to go to the toilet, go
5. if you need to keep some snacks beside you, do it
6. if you want some help, ask
7. if you need to throw up, see point 4

By a show of hands it was determined that only two participants had done any yoga before, so that meant that me and the fifteen other women in the class were in the same boat, namely, the S.S. Nofreakinclue. So we all felt as stupid and uncoordinated as each other and heaved a sigh of relief that we weren't 'the only one'.

The class focussed on lots of pelvic floor exercises combined with breath control. It was easier for those of us in the class that were in the first and second trimesters and therefore still had room in our chest cavities for lungs. The positions, whilst strange to a newbie like me weren't painful (even after standing up all day at work) or the least bit contortionist-like and I found myself actually enjoying it! I even rather liked being in a room full of pregnant bellies, all beautiful and round.

Namaste

After an hour and a half of saluting the sun and doing the downward dog (is it just me or do they sound a bit sexy?) it was time to finish, and what better way than a cup of camomile tea and TIM TAMS! Sure beats gluten-free, wheat-free, caffeine-free (read taste-free) lumps of crud that I was half expecting from a place that has a strict policy of no classes on a full or new moon.

I'm really glad I enjoyed it, not just because I paid upfront and have nine more sessions to go, but because its going to help me give birth. If it happens to tone up my massive bum a bit, then even better.

An A-Z of Pregnancy Part III

Touching Belly Etiquette – Pregnant women are public property. No longer is there a bubble of personal space surrounding me with any touching done on the upper arm as per cultural conventions. Its all belly touching and rubbing like I'm a Buddha statue at a Lotto kiosk. So far I haven't had any strangers come up and just grope me, although they've told me their life stories (see J), but friends have told me horror stories of being at the local Woolies and being harassed by elderly ladies who just can't seem to control themselves around a swollen tum. I'm not too sure what I'd do in the situation, other than probably put my own hands protectively over my belly so that theirs couldn't fit on... or I could just snarl and bark at them – I'm sure they'd run away quick as a flash.

Umbilicus – Am I allowed to request an 'inny' or an 'outie' belly button for Tricky? Hubby has the best of both worlds with a 'flattie' due to being born with an umbilicus hernia that needed surgery. I have an inny at the moment – the deepest inny you have ever seen. In the past few weeks a laparoscopic surgery scar that was hidden far inside my belly button has become visible. When my belly button pops it is highly likely that someone could lose an eye. You've been warned.

Vitamins – Folate this, iron that. Women have done this for thousands of years and their babies have turned out fine – yet I have a shelf that closely resembles a pharmacy and rattle when I walk due to all the multivitamins and supplements that we all simply must take. A pre-natal for at least three months before falling pregnant or you're irresponsible; an ante-natal during pregnancy to make sure bub develops as healthily as possibly and hopefully makes up for all the champers you drunk before finding out; fish oil for brain development and also to keep those ugly (read completely natural) stretch marks at bay; and then an iron supplement because the baby is stealing all yours and leaving you tired.

Waddle – Life as a duck is approaching. My bump is getting bigger now and soon I will start to waddle when I walk. Its a strange hip swinging movement half due to the size and placement of the massive tum, and half because of the loosening of all the ligaments in your hips to accommodate the impending birth. This is another reason why I don't fall for the “pregnant women are the sexiest thing on earth” concept – “waddle over here, baby, yeah!”

Xrays – Do you remember the posters at the Xray places that have a cartoon of a baby in a uterus with the little speech bubble saying “Mum, don't forget to tell them I'm here”? Thats exactly how I imagine Tricky. All cute and completely human looking, swimming around in a giant circle with an umbilical cord for modesty. When he comes out and is all squished, covered in crap with a conehead, I might ask for a refund.

Yoga – I've been looking in to ante-natal yoga classes after hearing so many women sing their praises. And as long as I don't have to wear lycra, I think I'm going to join up. With the pictures of birth positions I've seen, a bit of limbering up should do me the world of good. Plus I'd totally win the next game of Twister.

Zzzzz – Everyone with kids keeps reminding me how much sleep I won't be getting pretty soon. I wish there was a way that I could build up a sleep 'account' now and just snooze all day adding to it, so that when Tricky arrives and wants to feed at 3.12am there is plenty of reserves to call on. I know it doesn't work that way, but its a nice thought. Or I could express and bottle feed so that Hubby gets up at night.. ooh I like the sound of that!