Om Om Baby


Monkeys in my brain bouncing about and punching the life out of my frontal lobes, watch out!  Today is the day of some serious headspacing. I used to be an avid yoga practitioner in my pre-Peanut life and I loved the way it made me feel and how I could boast to others about the amazing flexibility of my limbs (not really what yoga is supposed to be about, however, there is nothing wrong with a healthy dose of arrogance and narcissism every now and then).

BlueBeretDad knows I do yoga and ignores that  fact – he is a devoted football fan and an obsessive runner.  I have spent the last few years preaching about the suppleness of my joints and my calm mind (this argument causes him to smirk until he chokes and spits out whatever beverage he is drinking at the time) and have to yet challenge him on the mat. But there is one thing BlueBeretDad does not know – I started meditating. Seriously.  Every day, which means as much as I can, which is not much and still better than nothing. And don’t ask me why I keep it a secret. Maybe because I feel embarrassed about the need to connect with my higher self.  Maybe I worry he will laugh at me as I announce how I want to live my life with no dogmatic mumbo jumbo in any shape or form and then go to follow the “More Meditation for the Nation” guerrilla movement. Nah.  My higher self whispers into my ear that it is nice to have something that only you know about – not a lie, but a wee secret. So up until now, this was my dirty little secret – I meditate.   And here is how it normally goes in my world when I decide that I need to put the monkeys to bed every now and then.

Breathe in and out, in and out. Now gently close your eyes and scan your body.  Just relax. Yeah, well, I still have half an eye open as at Peanut is trying very successfully to electrocute himself.  As I reach out to disconnect him from the socket I breathe out. So, keep your 1.5 eye open and scan your body.  Ouch – I am very mindful of Peanut pulling my hair out.  Judging by the amount he has removed from my scalp he must be running a wig making business behind our backs.

“Oooom  omom” the monkeys in my head are slowing down.  Slowing.  Down.

“Dadadadadadada” says Peanut.

“Om o mom” the monkeys are becoming comatose.

“Mamamamamamama” the monkeys jump up and use my anterior insular cortex as a punch bag while my mini cannibal is sinking his mini razors – for – milk teeth into my arm. Very mindful of my maternal love I wonder if my next career move should be designing and mass producing baby muzzles.

It takes one more Om for me to decide to open my both eyes and finish the relaxation just in time to fish Peanut out of the toilet bowl.

My next attempt at stopping the wild kicking about in my head is to do some yoga.  One leg up wrapped around my neck, Peanut decides to climb up my grounded limb to dangle off my bum (grim sagging case, I know).   I stop before my self esteem crumbles down and fold myself into the lotus position to read Mr Fox has Lost his Socks for the 1,347,862th time.

You may say, what a pointless exercise but I disagree with you as later that evening I serve BlueBeretDad dinner with one arm, one of my legs resting comfortably in the tree pose, hold Peanut in my other arm, balance a pint of compulsory lager on the top of my head, sort out the laundry with the toes of my foot on the ground and smile sweetly as the monkeys in my head load their Kalashnikovs.