Ahhh, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I am beginning yoga. Resistance has been futile. I have been assimilated.

When I married my husband I married everything yoga. Dot com, that is. When his passion for business comingled with his passion for yoga it produced in him a brand of sincere charisma that would make Ghandi wretch, were he alive to do any wretching. Burton has spent the last 3 years trying to get me into the yoga studio, or at least into those hot little yoga pants. Until lately I could neutralize his kind persuasions with uppity protests that I Salsa dance, I don't do yoooooga. And then something happened...I had a baby.

Our little boy is 4 months old. Having this child has done a number of things that now point my assana in the direction of the yoga mat:

1) I am not working. I am at home all the time. All I am doing is taking care of a harmless little baby, ergo I have plenty of spare time to just pop in a yoga DVD and get my OM on.

2) These months of sleep deprivation, baby-carrying, and the awkward strain of breastfeeding positions have left me about as flexible as holiday ribbon candy.

3) In my parental contemplations of fairness and other myths, I have been struck with an unfortunate case of conscience, in which it has occurred to me that Burton learned how to Salsa so that he could share in my love of dance, yet I have never learned to do yoga. Hmmm.

Lastly, unrelated to having a baby, but weighing in very heavily as a pretty good reason to do yoga *uh hum* I am turning 39 in a couple of weeks. Nuff said.

So, here I go. First things first--when embarking on any expedition one must first outfit oneself with the proper attire. Tisk, tisk, nooooo, this is NOT an excuse to raid the storeroom for those hot little yoga pants. Noooooo.