A Mommy 2 B Yoga Instructor Addresses Her New Teaching Assistant

So, you’re the new girl, huh? Well, pay attention, princess, because I ain’t repeating this: Mommy 2 B yoga ain’t for newbies. Let’s get one thing straight: this is Yoga and in this room I am your own personal lord Ganesha. I’m here to align minds and bodies and I sure as shit don’t have time to play wet nurse to some teat-suckling infant who’s going to crack the first time one of the mommies vomits on her mat from increased intraabdominal pressure.

I know your kind. You took a training class or two at the Y after work and got your certificate. I bet you even went to a few weekend seminars. You’ve read the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, the Shiva Samhita and various Tantras. Well. Ain’t. You. Hot. Shit. You think can just come in here and run through a few sun salutations, Warrior poses, say a few oms and that’s it. Wrong.

Listen up, fucker, because I’m only going to say this once: these women ain’t like you and me. Their brains are addled by the corpus luteum pumping out more estrogen and progesterone than they know what to do with. Under that gray-hoodie-wearing, eco-friendly, green-living exterior beats the heart of a bored Sausalito housewife with white middleclass guilt.

You see this scar? Take a good look. You think I got that from just sitting back while some prego 34 year old practiced her Ujjayi breathing? Think again, mouth breather. You ever look into the face of a woman two weeks over due trying to maintain her warrior pose while the estrogen in her body is telling her to do one of two things, either punch you or vomit? Ever correct the pose of a mommy to be during downward facing dog while she cries because that’s almost the same position that go her knocked up in the first place?

This ain’t the practice you learned in pre-school, kid. This is the kind of pants-wetting, water-breaking, pelvic-girdle-pain inducing, ‘Why-did-I-bother-going-to-Grad-school?’ no-holds-barred yoga that motherfuckers have nightmares about. Frankly, from the look on your sad sack face right now, I don’t think you got the balls for this.

You think you got what it takes to make it through the next ninety minutes? So did your predecessor. I’ll spare you the details of what happened but, long story short, as soon as the shit got real, she ran back to Grand Rapids and opened her own safe little studio, free of pregnant women.

Me, I’m gonna to get this class going and, when I’m through, these bitches will be shitting inner peace. You go light the lotus candle, keep your third eye open and pray to the supreme Brahman that you live to utter ‘Namaste’ tomorrow.