Prenatally Yours

Went for my first prenatal yoga class yesterday at Blue Raven Yoga. The poses were different from the usual Bikram's series (downward dogs, yuck!!!!), because Blue Raven practices Ashtanga/Iyengar. But as I hadn't been to yoga in months, it was great to do something. Anything.

Ever since we began trying for another baby post-miscarriage last August, I've been too afraid to move. And once I found out that I was pregnant, that's it: I became as static as a humongous rock. Now that the first trimester's thankfully behind us, I feel the need to rediscover motion again. But maybe I should have started small, by getting used to walking again first. You know, baby steps.

Yesterday's class was fun as heck, and it was great to be in the company of a bevy of big round bellies. After yoga, the family and I went to pig out at Madras Cafe, our favorite Indian food joint, where for the first time in months, I felt justified in stuffing my belly with the best rasam in SoCal, yummy sambar, idlis and dosas and some rather exotic-looking veggies and dals. (A quick but worthwhile segue here: I highly recommend Madras Cafe to local residents. No Indian food joint we've ever visited in the area comes close to the original ingredients and high quality of the chow here. And their desserts, of which they always have two on their lunch buffet, are the best ever -- never too sweet, just on the right side of delicious.)

Anyhoo, a good day was had by all. But I had some cramping last night which was a little scary, and this morning I woke up to a myriad of aches and pains in muscles I'd forgotten existed. Jeez. I feel as alive as a dying duck. So no yoga classes for a couple more weeks. Will walk around the trails near our home for a bit, maybe do some yoga at home using Shiva Rea's prenatal video (no downward dogs!!!). And maybe in a few weeks, I'll feel better prepared to be a pregnant yogini.

Grumpy (or How Many Birthday Parties Does a 3-year-old Need for Crying Out Loud??)

Am grumpy as heck. That by itself is nothing new. The hormones are working overtime these days and it doesn't take much to bring a scowl on my face anyways. But I swear, Raina's upcoming birthday's making that scowl more or less permanent. As if multiple grey hairs weren't enough, now I am going to be wrinkly as well.

The problemo is we're looking at a minimum of 3 birthday parties for the kiddo -- one for each of her years on the planet. First, the preschool party, where we have cake, pizza, a game or two, return gifts. It would be great if I could just drop all of the stuff on Cindy and Ms. Perez, Raina's teachers, and have them do the party thang. But of course, my presence is required.

Then, probably the same day, we're going to do a party at home for neighborhood kiddos and all our non-desi friends kids. (More to come on desi friends.) There, we're looking at around 2 dozen kids, sans parents. More pizza, cake number 2, games, more return gifts.

Finally, it's the desi party on the weekend of the birthday. This is what really gets my goat. Pourquoi a separate desi party? Why can't desis just mingle with non-desis and be part of the great US of A, instead of pretending to be in India? I've grumbled endlessly to my husband about this, and he just laid it down for me: We go to other people's desi kid parties, ergo, we have to give desi kid party. No one at desi parties even pretends that this is about the kid. It's all about the parents and their social life and eating good biryani and bitching about the US and Indian cricket. Of course, now that I've eaten another's biryani, I need to make my own. Quid pro quo, what. So that's that.

It's hardly any wonder I want to bury my head in the nearest sandbox and wait for the birthday tsunami to pass me by. At least Raina'll have a memorable birthday. And it's about the kid, ain't it?

Rainisms

Blogging for the first time from my new iMac! It's delicious, but it needs a wee bit of getting used to after a decade of PC use. Anyhoo, have been wanting to note down a few Rainisms uttered a few days ago by our household 3-footer. (She isn't even 3 yet, but she's already over 3 feet tall!) The following wise words came out of the mouth of the babe:

1. Friend's 14-year-old son: (mock seriously) Raina, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Raina: (after a thoughtful pause) I want to be RAINA!

2. Friend's 19-year-old daughter: How old are you going to be on your birthday?
Raina: I'm going to be three years old and I'm going to have three blue birthday candles on my blue birthday cake and I am not going to sing "happy birthday" to myself.

3. Raina: I love you.
Raina's Ma i.e. Moi: I love you too.
Raina: (eyes wide) Grown-ups really like it when someone says I love you.

:) Smartass!