As I mentioned last post, I’ve been reaping the benefits of the company gym now that I’m back at work. I do yoga Monday/Wednesday and Pilates Tuesday/Thursday. I love our yoga class – I was actually doing it well into my third trimester while pregnant with Liam. The instructor is the sweetest woman (she’s pixie sized, but claims she weighed 200 lbs while pregnant and then lost all the weight doing yoga. I’m skeptical, yet intrigued). The class is mildly challenging but not too intense. It’s such a nice break in the day.

In general, my mind is constantly going a million miles a minute. When I first began my practice, Savasana was so difficult. It took every ounce of strength I had not to laugh. Clearing my mind was next to impossible. But as the weeks and months went on, I got better and better at it. Eventually, I was able to (mostly) quiet my inner monologue and enjoy a few moments of total peace.

Aside for non-yogis:
“Savasana might look like a nap at the end of your yoga practice. But it’s actually a fully conscious pose aimed at being awake, yet completely relaxed. In Savasana—also known as corpse pose— you lie down on your back and relax your body and mind so you may fully assimilate the benefits of your asana practice.” –source

But not today. I don’t know what it was about today, but for some reason I felt like one of those dolls whose eyes open when you sit them up, except backwards. When it was time for Savasana, I tried to clear my mind and relax, but every couple seconds my eyes popped back open. I felt electric. I could barely lie still, let alone relax. In the space of 5 minutes, inside my head, this is what happened:

At what temperature should I reheat that casserole for dinner?
Why the hell won’t Molly say please and thank you?
It’s like, embarrassing.
Do I have bad manners in front of her?
No, I definitely say please.
Seriously, no more cookies unless she says please.
And no more grapes.
That’ll teach her.
If we ever refinish the basement, we should line the entire thing with built-in shelves.
Build them right into the wall.
How cool would that be?
I need to put all of the Steel Hawks home games on my calendar.
Is it seriously March already?
Dammit, why won’t that craigslist lady write back to my email?
I bet she sold those end tables to someone else, that bitch.
They were so freaking cute.
And cheap.
Craigslist is so fickle.
I really want to go for a walk today.
It’s finally sort of nice out.
But I have that 3 o’clock, and I bet it will run over.
Why do I even bother setting my step goal so high?
It is really nice when I hit it.
I cannot wait to find out if Krista is having a boy or a girl.
I bet they induce her next week.
I’m going to wait to find out the gender of the next one.
Even if Eric won’t.
He’ll totally slip and tell me.
And that’ll make me mad.
But seriously, we have plenty of clothes either way.
I should definitely go through all of them again and put them in nicer boxes.
Mouse proof boxes.
Actually I need to reorganize the whole attic.
And have a yard sale.
But when?
May is ideal.
But so busy.
Seriously, whatever’s left is going out to the trash.
I’m so over it.
Why did I marry a hoarder?
Without me, he’d be on that show, I swear.
It’s maddening yet endearing.
I save stuff too, I guess.
Like do I really need my high school notebooks?
Yes.
They’re funny.
I can’t believe we used to pass notes.
Like, paper notes.
Kids today won’t have those memories with texting.
Not like you save old texts.
Or can you?
I could go on Shark Tank with an app that prints out text conversations so you can save them.
I bet that already exists.
And wastes paper.
Crap, I never texted my sister today to check on the kids.
I’m the worst mom.
It’s OK.
They don’t even know.
I’m sure they’re fine.
Kohl’s cash starts tomorrow.
I don’t want any more clothes in this size.
But I have nothing to wear.
eBay or poshmark for my rejected clothes?
Poshmark intimidates me.
I really want to create a capsule.
But like, a nice one.
I need to get rid of all my Target clothes.
Isn’t 31 too old to have the majority of my clothes come from Target?
I’m not sure where 31 year olds with minimal budgets are supposed to shop.
Forever 31?
Not like I have time to shop.
Will my ski pants fit in 3 weeks for skiing?
If they don’t, whose can I borrow?
I do see a difference.
A little bit.
Baby steps.
But I’m afraid to try the pants on again.
Are we done here yet?
I really need to pee.