We all know that a yoga ball is great for abdominal workouts. The number of exercises and stretches you can do on one of these things is seemingly infinite. You might think many modern new moms have yoga balls in their homes to help them shed their baby bellies and get back into their pre-preggo pants.
But that’s not why new mamas have yoga balls. The yoga ball is the new glider rocking chair for lulling babies to sleep. Not so long ago, I spent many days, nights, months bouncing away on my yoga ball with Baby Quinn in my arms. Ah, so many memories. Then as my due date for Baby Dragon drew near, I rolled out my yoga ball again and dusted it off. I gazed at it, so bright and blue, remembering all the lullabies I softly sang to his older brother atop of it, and I thought to myself…
Gawd, I hate that f**king thing.
I bounced on that stupid yoga ball until my back started to spasm and my legs shook with fatigue. I stared down at Baby Quinn – The Child That Would Not Sleep – silently begging him to close his eyes.
You’ve slept a total of thirty minutes in the last eight hours! How is it possible you are still awake?! I know you’re tired. You know you’re tired. Stop fighting it!! Close your damn eyes!!
And then Quinn’s eyes would eventually close and his breathing would get slower and heavier until it became a soft snore. I would slowly stand up, still half-bouncing him with my weakened knees, and creep over to his crib. As I laid him down on the mattress with the most graceful dismount possible… his eyes would slam open and the panicked wailing would begin again.
AHHHHH! I’m awake! I’m awake! Don’t you dare leave me in this crib by myself! It’s cold and lonely and the giraffe painted on the wall looks like a monster and WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME??!!
And back onto the yoga ball we would go… bouncing… bouncing… bouncing…
All those people in your office who have traded their desk chairs in for yoga balls are delusional. They read some article online about how they can sit on one these bad boys all day and type their way to a flat tummy. BUT IT’S ALL A BIG FAT LIE! If it were possible, I would have abs of f**king steel!! I’ve logged so many hours on this damn yoga ball, I should have the body of a Pilates instructor. But I do not! BALLS!!
My yoga ball is the DEVIL!
I swear, as soon as Reid has grown out of the yoga-ball-baby-bouncing phase, I’m going to go all Office Space on that damn thing. You know what I’m talking about? That scene from the movie where the guys take the printer from their office that was always broken out into a field and just beat the living s**t out it? That’s what I’m going to do to my yoga ball. Except instead of a baseball bat, I’m going to use a machete or something equally as sharp and menacing, and when I hear that satisfying POP! and the last bit of life seeps out that bright blue devil, I will do f**king cartwheels.
Oh, yeah. That’s going to be awesome!
Now, with my second son, I don’t log quite so many hours on the yoga ball. At three months old, Reid sleeps like a champ at night. Hubs or I bounce with him for about five minutes, and he’s out cold for six hours. I love this kid! At night, anyway. Mid-afternoon, however, you’ll find us bouncing away on the yoga ball like freakin’ déjà vu.
By the way, am I the only mom who channels Jay-Z while on the yoga ball. Bounce wit me, bounce wit me, Can I get a …
Okay, so maybe I do need a bit more sleep.