This post is Grassroots, meaning a reader posted it directly. If you see an issue with it, contact an editor.
If you’d like to post a Grassroots post, click here!

1.3
May 5, 2019

The Private Thoughts of a Pregnant Yogi

Full of cautious hope, I head into class

Will old leggings hold my preggo girl ass?

I place my mat down, and I hit Child’s Pose

I’d run, but I can’t, so it’s yoga I chose

 

Tuck my toes, Down Dog, I lift my hips high

I don’t feel great, but I’m here just to try

I pedal my feet, I twist and I wiggle

Do I feel gas? Clench!  Don’t you dare giggle!

 

Oh, good, feet to the front, I breathe, I chill

Did I take Zofran?  I need that lil’ pill

It works so well, and without it I’m nauseous

Damn! I forgot it, I’d better be cautious

 

I stand, my arms raise, I nail Mountain Pose

I look down, oh shit, I can’t see my toes

How will I know if I’ll lose all this weight gain?

It might all just climax with back labor pain

 

Sixty minutes, body!  You can do it!

For quite a few weeks, you only could sit

I half-lift, plant hands, step back, and then I flow

I just swallowed vomit, oh great, a new low

 

My butt cheek itches, damn that hormone shot!

I reach back and scratch. My neighbor saw. Caught!

That judgy bitch by me is big-boobed and thin

Her mat’s where I’ll aim if I throw up again

 

High Plank to Low Plank, I can’t lift back up

Flop to my belly!  Do I submit? Yup

My arms are too weak, my body feels foreign

Must let it go, but the tears start to pour in

 

Breathing is tough, I can hardly get air

I huff and I puff, people start to stare

How many times must I do this vinyasa?

I could be at home, curled up in mi casa

 

I try to balance, lifting tall in Tree

I’m kicked from inside, and I have to pee

Some preggo yogis feel great, they glow and such

But your cervix?  A lotus? That’s a bit much

 

I hear Horse Pose helps for when Baby comes

We rise and we fall, all dropping our bums

I grunt as I flow, but it beats giving birth

I’m terrified of my kid’s head and its girth

 

And then it happens: a small puff of air

Screw it.  I farted. Do I fucking care?

I know I’m lucky, but this shit ain’t fun

Soon we’ll meet Baby, and this can be done

 

We hit the mat, I’m weighed down by fatigue

Should I have come?  Is this out of my league?

I lie on my back, and the heartburn sets in

Bridge lifts my hips up, brings my chest to my chin

 

Almost made it, my body feels better

Wait….What is that leak? My undies? Wetter

For the love of god…now a whole new headache?

This break-dancing baby should give Mom a break!

 

Now at the end, final relaxation

I fret about pain at zero station

Hemorrhoids now gone, I thought yoga a good plan

I’ll want to come back, and I hope that I can

 

Roll up my mat, put away block and strap

Some have it easy, but I get all the crap

I tried my best.  My body is not the same

I’m warm now from wearing a blanket of shame

 

We slowly sit tall, I try anyway

I breathe and I say that last namaste

It’s time to go home, I may need two showers

My husband is sweet, I came home to flowers

 

I can learn from this time, I know that I can

But it would be simpler to be a man

Forty weeks are a gift, I do truly know

But my honest feelings to myself I owe

 

 

Author’s Note: I recognize that some women cannot have children, and this is in no way meant to disrespect or demean their experience.  Rather, it is simply to share my own experience. Being a woman is hard enough, so it is essential that we have compassion and grace for each woman’s experience.

You must be logged in to post a comment. Create an account.

Read Elephant’s Best Articles of the Week here.
Readers voted with your hearts, comments, views, and shares:
Click here to see which Writers & Issues Won.

Erin Austin

Erin Austin is a high school teacher, yoga instructor, world traveler, and lover of all things rock n’ roll. She lives in Fort Collins, CO, with her family.