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.
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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.
