Yoga prepared me to DANCE!

Boof and I snuck away from parenting duties to attend a wedding on Saturday. My parents were in town and Potamus was happily ignoring us for the novelty of grammy & grampy time. I got dolled up and away we went. While it was an old acquaentence, in a girl who grew up next to Boof, the wedding was far from awkward. Because how could a wedding be awkward when the reception is a pizza buffet? And the bride put the ring on the groom’s wrong hand, and then dropped the ring down under the stage and the Man of Honor had to crawl around in his suit to find it?

There was so much laughter and love in the room that I could hardly stand it. And when the music got underway, so did the music videos, and boy lemme tell you, there is nothing better than dancing right alongside vintage Whitney Houston music videos. Or any music videos from the early 90’s. By 9:30 I was dancing so hard that my neck was dripping with sweat (an attractive look I tell you), and I had convinced my in-laws to stay for an extra 5 songs (because how could you leave during Love Shack? Or Britney Spears? Seriously people!). I guess I was dancing so hard that the father of the bride dubbed me his “favorite reception” guest ever. Which is a high compliment from a man in his 60’s, wearing boat shoes, with unbuttoned top buttons of his dress shirt and 70’s pornstart hair. Seriously. This wedding was the shit!

But I realized, at about 60 minutes into the dance fest that my heart was beating fast, and I was enjoying myself and had no desire to stop. And at 90 minutes, when we were leaving because of kiddo-at-home, but I could have kept dancing for another hour, I realized: I am in shape.

90 minutes of bikram/hot yoga two-three times a week has somehow made me in shape enough to dance for an hour and a half straight. To  Love Shack people, it’s not like I was slow dancing to “My Heart Will Go On.” I have never been this in shape for dancing. I have always gotten tired 2-3 songs in and taken a break. I have never done so many fist pumps or jumping moves in my life. And I walked away from the experience both sore and happy to be alive. Who knew that yoga would get me all pumped up for wedding receptions!

You think I could convince Boof to go clubbing now? 😉

when my hair still looked good and not like a sweaty aerobics instructor

On Housing a Football Star in My Womb

I’m not really sure what moms-to-be really mean when they say they all felt “flutters” as the first kick, because let me tell you…Baby Boof (now that we have established that it is, indeed, a gentleman baby inside of me) was certainly not dainty like a butterfly. The first kick felt distinctly like a finger-thwack from the inside, as if to say, “hey lady, just wanna let you know I’m in here,” or maybe he loved/hated what I ate for dinner that night and was asking for more of it or to never have it again. It’s hard to tell what a certain alien-like creature inside me is really trying to communicate, since English hasn’t yet begun, and I don’t speak Thwack. Although, perhaps I could teach him the lost art of Morse Code?

Now, at the beginning of 25 weeks the kicks have become more distinct and I am always wondering what the hell is going on inside of me (and why he prefers the right side of my belly to the left) and then I got THIS ultrasound:

Well golly gee, doesn’t that just explain it all? Though help me decide…is my uterus currently a USC football field with Baby Boof as the star quarterback scoring the winning touchdown (notice the Heisman pose he’s got going on there) or am I birthing a 70’s throwback to John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever (referencing a movie I’ve never actually seeen, and am only guessing at the star actor. It could have been Kevin Bacon or Dean Martin for all I really know).

So here I am, trying to live a normal existence as a pregnant lady, and my child is throwing a dance party inside my womb. Brilliant.