30 Days of Yoga - Centre

Updated: Mar 11, 2018

I've got to start this blog post with a huge, yogi-style bow of gratitude. It's for all my brilliant friends, family and online peeps: thank you for all your well wishes and positive vibes after hearing of the hubby's emergency admittance to the hospital yesterday. All the words that were said, and favours that were done and vibes that were felt are so appreciated and so welcome. You are all our rock stars.





And on this, day twelve of my thirty day yoga challenge, we even got some kind words from my favourite yogi herself:





(I have to admit I did do a little happy dance at that one)


The hubster is still in hospital. He's still in quite a bit of pain but not so much as yesterday and now has the joy of waiting ALL weekend before a consultant can come along and decide what happens next. So for now, he's still hooked up with plastic tubes and bottles and morphine and a general lack of dignity. Bless him. He's my rock star too.


I woke up early this morning, drained from an emotional day yesterday but marginally refreshed from forty winks or so. I wanted to fit my yoga practice in before the demands of the day started to beckon, but also because I knew it would be the best possible start for me. And if it was the best possible start for me, then it would surely be so for my kids and my darling man once I got to see him.


The theme for today was 'Centre'. Hmmmmm. I breathed out as the practice began. Centre. That had to be good for me right now. A chance to reconnect to that core, that instinct, that energy centre that holds so much emotion. Abs or no abs, a bit of time with my centre had to be a good thing.





And it was a good thing. Until a sleepy Big Lad decided to join the party and watch my every move from a comfy spot on the sofa. He refused my invitation to join in (one day my friends, one day) and instead opted to give a moment-by-moment critique. "You're not doing it right Mum . . . She hasn't got her hands there! . . You're not stretching high enough . . . That's not the way Adriene bends!"


Yes Big Lad. I am fully aware I do not bend like the yogic beauty you see on the screen before you, but can you not hear her words about connecting to the true self? About accepting where I bloody well am today? About moving with the best damn version of myself? Cut me some slack will you, you dozy-eyed, pyjama-clad disparager?


Instead: "Thank you darling. Would you like to go and watch You Tube on your brother's tablet now?"


And away he skipped.


As I've managed to rise above the cutting comments of young boys for nine and a half years now, I did make it to the end of the 'Centre' practice in one piece. Those hip-dips nearly finished me off, but I smiled as Adriene suggested until Downward Dog came in all its sweet, sweet glory. Now I understand why it's a resting pose.





I spent the rest of the day gloriously child-free (thanks to AMAZING friends who stepped in to care for the lads) and not so gloriously in a hospital. About halfway through a sleepy afternoon, when the ward was quiet and the morphine was doing its thang, my husband turned to me and said, "It's so nice having you next to me. When else do we do this? At home you would be busy with the washing or the ironing or the kids or something. But you're here, next to me, still and quiet, so my hands can touch you. It's so good."


And as our fingers linked and our smiles found each other, a beautiful warmth spread through my centre that - I'm sorry Adriene - not even a yogic hip-dip could recreate.


Go well,


Abi




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