And more love

Two months.

In the last two months, I have been balancing, stacking pieces in each day, addressing them methodically one by one, finding a new efficiency that helps to propel me home from work, where I unfold: nurse, listen to my daughter's stories, exchange glances with my partner, sink deeply into the sweet face of my baby boy. Eyes sharper, heart more open, mind fuzzy and wise, melancholy and bliss in a dance, sense of humor a low flame that I try to keep lit.

In the last two months, I have seen a birthday. And for a moment on that day I caught myself feeling old, only to find on the day after that my jump back returned to me in practice. It comes and goes, but it reminds me of the memory and strength of the depth of the body.

And that is true, too: I have returned to the shala. I just finished my 2nd week back, and it was deliciously calming to walk in on that first day to the kindness of my fellow yogis, still moving diligently through their own practices. The smell, the sound of breathing, the nurturing hands of my dear teacher. As if I had never left.

Weeks post-partum without the physicality of yoga turn from a necessity to an echoing kind of missing. It begins to feel necessary to bring it back. Without asana, the mind tries to hold steady to all that the body has done in years and years of asana to clear it out. And we realize how critical asana is to the 8 limbs. And now, with even more intuition—more instinct, sharper senses, a greater will to let go—I practice more wisely. And that efficiency transfers onto the mat. Softly, with less need to force anything at all. Lightness.

And the fire in the belly is slowly returning. Each day something new. Today, jumping back to plank: The sweeping, energetic uplift to Upward Dog after that jump is something I had forgotten. So, this practice—practiced before—becomes new again. A mix of memories and newness.

And more love. One wonders where it will all fit, this love for babies and partner. It has to all crowd in at first, and the tug of loving and missing and awe feels like pain. The pain surfaces in the form of anxiety or sadness, frustration over a messy living room (Cannot we have a perfectly tidy living room for this family?), or deep worry about a sniffle (Is everyone okay?), or fear about mediocrity (If I were a better mother, I would....). But the love settles in, and the heart begins to feel like it was always this big, as one manages the low, dull ache and beauty of this blessing.