Yoga for three

Last night I finally went to a pre-natal yoga class at the yoga studio where I regularly (if not religiously) take classes. I'm not crazy about the time -- Sunday evening -- which is generally when I like to sit down with the mister over a big, starchy dinner and have whiny, existential conversations about the meaninglessness of our lives.

But the main reason I hadn't gone was that I've been being macho. I don't need no wimpy pre-natal yoga! I can still do the real thing! And I can -- certain postures aside. But this class rocked. It was relaxing but still somewhat rigorous, the teacher provided lots of modification options, and it was nice to be in a class with all pregnant women. Moreover, I liked having a bounded time and place to focus on my body and breathing and think about being pregnant in a more meditative and -- dare I say -- spiritual sort of way.

As the only twin mama in the class, I also got a sort of sly, secret satisfaction in thinking "babieS" whenever the instructor said baby, singular, as in "put your hand on your baby" or "try to picture your baby," etc. I felt like we were this cool, exclusive little club: me and my girls, hanging out on a Sunday night together, getting our prahna on. The thought of only having one baby inside seemed so lonely.

In other news, I finally feel like a real blogger, as I have been tagged by the Motel Manager to do one of these word association thingys. I'm supposed to quickly riff on the four words provided by the MM. Here goes:

Deodorant. I immediately think of an armpit--perhaps my own--striated with white, creamy, flaky lines of the stuff. Then I think of my mother getting dressed when I was a kid, and how after she put on deodorant (the roll-on kind) she'd flap her elbows up and down, chicken-like, to get it to dry (I assume). Then I think of the first deodorant that I ever got, in sixth grade, which was a tiny white and pink container (tube? receptacle?) of -- I kid you not -- Teen Spirit. Smelled like a mosquito, my libido, etc.

Throwback. When I think of this word, it is immediately followed in my mind by either the phrase "to the McCarthy era" or "to the Nixon years." I have no idea why. I wish, instead, it made me think of fish that are too small and have to be thrown back, but I'd be lying if I said it did.

Period. After all these years, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret still springs immediately to mind. But maybe only because I was just thinking about the Nixon years, which is when I think the book was published. All I know is that by the time I read it they didn't sell belts for sanitary pads anymore, and I wish I'd known that the first time I read the book, because they sounded like some kind of medieval torture device, and undermined the whole premise of the plot for me: why the hell would anyone want to get their period??

Blossom. This also makes me think of Are You There God? It's Me Margaret. Is something wrong with me? On second thought, I am reminded of the hit television sitcom of the early nineties, and more specifically of the actress Jenna Von Oy, who played Blossom's best friend, Six. Jenna and I and our mothers used to ride the train into New York together, back when I was doing modeling/TV commercials as a kid. She was sort of like a kid sister to me. Once we were in a commercial together for Duncan Hines "Crispy Chewy" Chocolate Chip Cookies. (Jingle sung to the tune of "Love and Marriage" by yours truly and a chorus of other belting brats.) Jenna Von Oy is her real name, but the umlaut she started putting over the "Oy" is totally fake. Still, I respect her work.

I think I'm supposed to tag other people now and make them do this, but I basically read the same blogs the Motel Manager does, so I'm at a loss. But I suppose I could tag Bihari at Iowadrift and Scruffylooking at her eponymous blog. And anyone else who wants to reply in the comments, be my guest. Here are your words:

1. Doughnut (or "Donut" if you prefer)
2. Kick-stand
3. Monkey
4. Attic