Still hurting and sad, I found myself wanting to leave the class, but after much inner discussion and debate, I decided that I was being silly. I can’t spend the rest of my life running away from pregnant people, I thought. I had to stay, especially after the teacher went out of the way to ask why I looked so pale and gaunt, and I specifically made a big deal about how careful I was going to be. (Yes, I told her since I didn’t want her to be wondering why I might take it a little easy. I am usually a crazy yogini.)

I unfurled my mat one row forward and two rows to the right of the pregnant woman. She was out of my view unless we went upside down. I could do this, I thought. As the class progressed, I couldn’t shake the sadness, though, even as I moved and breathed and felt my muscles releasing. It got so bad that every once and a while I had to fight off tears, but I was always able to push it down and resist the urge to leave. (It helped that I made sure I kept my eyes shut every time I went into downward facing dog so I wouldn’t have to see a pregnant belly staring me in the face.)

Even though it felt wonderful to stretch and breathe, I struggled physically, too. My body isn’t fully recovered, and I felt out of breath and dizzy once in a while. I even had to stop a few times and sit in child’s pose. Once, I almost tumbled out of Warrior 2 because I lost my balance completely. Still, I endured. I didn’t want to interrupt the class, and yoga is usually my favorite antidepressant — one of the things that brings me peace and serenity. I guess that’s why I felt relief when the asanas came to an end and we sat down for shavasana.

Usually, I just feel peace when the class ends. Shavasana is pretty awesome. It’s the relaxing, restorative time where we lie on the floor in corpse pose and just relax. Occasionally, we get “picked” by the teacher for a little extra attention, which means a spritz of lavender oil and a stretch of the shoulders. Not a bad way to end a wonderful hour. On Sunday, I guess the teacher felt like I needed a little extra love so I not only got the lavender and shoulder stretch, I also got a massage of my temples, head, and forehead.

Usually, I love getting picked. Not Sunday, though. As soon as the teacher placed her hands on my forehead, my eyes welled up. I couldn’t stop it from happening. I started sobbing soundlessly. “She feels sorry for me,” I thought, although the reality is *I* felt sorry for me. Thankfully, the teacher soon moved on to the next student, and I was able to lie there trying to control myself. I stopped crying by the time we sat up, and — after chanting a mantra to close our practice (Om bolo shri, sat guru bhagavan ki…) –  was the first one up and out the door, big sunglasses covering my red eyes. (Unfortunately, there aren’t glasses big enough to cover the blotchy mess that I had going on all over my face and nose.)

It’s so strange to me. This is not my first miscarriage. Sure, I was sad when I miscarried between Big Girl and Little Girl, but I moved on quickly. I’m not sure if it’s because I was so busy back then tending to a 20-month-old or because my support system was so huge (we were doing almost daily playdates back then), or if I just knew that I was going to get pregnant again at some time in the future, but I dealt with that loss and put it behind me. This loss is just kicking my ass.

Anyway, I am sure you are as sick of reading about my crying as I am actually doing the crying, so I will try and switch gears back to the healthy and natural stuff asap. I just had to put fingers to keyboard to write this out. Thanks for listening. Come back tomorrow to read about National Costume Swap Day. I promise that post will be interesting, funny, and eco-minded.

Take the bike riding: I’m out there getting ready to teach and she screams when she can’t get on the bike. She screams when she gets on and the bike falls. She screams when the helmet isn’t positioned right. Once we’re off and riding (and running behind the bike) she screams when a neighbor sees her and cheers her on, “Go, Big Girl!” Crumpling in tears, the kid tells me that she doesn’t want anyone to see her trying to ride. That she doesn’t like it when the nice lady (nice is my word) tells her, “Go!” Then she screams when I attempt to let go and let her ride. I stay calm. I try another tactic, telling her there will be no more yelling or we have to stop. I try and build up her confidence. Eventually, by the end of the lesson, the screaming had subsided. Then we went in the house and she bumped her toe. She screamed like someone had shot her with an arrow.

This morning we had screaming when she couldn’t pick an outfit. She missed the bus because my husband, fed up with the screaming, told her she wasn’t going to school. She had screamed too much and would suffer the consequences, he said. He even called the bus driver and told her not to come.

She’s at school, of course. He drove her over at 9 a.m. I am drained for the day and it’s only 9:44 a.m. I have no idea how to get her to stop screaming. We listen to her. We talk to her. We reason with her. She gets plenty of love, affection, attention, and care. And still she screams. The girl who cried wolf comes to mind. As does the fact that my mother often told me that if I continued to cry over nothing eventually no one would believe my cries anymore. Great. Wonderful. My mother’s prediction — some day I would have a child who would drive me as crazy as I drove her — came true.

We’re going to go to the library tonight, I think. We’ll be taking out that old fable and reading it. Several times, perhaps. And then we will set up a behavior chart to try and curb this noise. Can you tell I’m trying so hard to be positive and proactive? What other choice do I have? Thank goodness the little one could fall off a bed or walk into a wall — yes, she’s done both — and barely give a sniffle. I don’t think I could stand the yelling in stereo.

Do you have a screamer? What’s your kids most annoying habit? How do you deal with it?