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PSA: Everyone Needs To Do Yoga With Baby Goats

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Hi, mommy, I see you over there. I see you with your screaming kids, your cluttered house, and your nonstop giving. I see you tired, overwhelmed, and run ragged. Yes, I see you, joyless in your buttery LuLaRoe leggings and your messy bun. Most days, you need three cups of coffee in the morning, and one (or two!) glasses of malbec with dinner just to take the edge off. Yes, I see you, and I know how you feel.

Being mommy sucks serious ass sometimes, there’s no denying it. It’s the thankless job you’re supposed to love all the time (but don’t). Look, I know you love your kids, but it’s okay take a hiatus from them to do something for yourself! Something absurd. And boy do I ever have the perfect remedy for the suck-ass doldrums of mommyhood:

Yoga with baby goats!

Seriously, wrap your head around this one, and hear me out: Even if you don’t love yoga, you will love this, I promise. Yoga with baby goats changed my life last week, and I want to share my experience, because if you can find a class near you, I’m betting it will change your life (a little) too. Or at the very least, it will offer you a much needed mommy reset. Oh, and also some good old-fashioned inner delight. Remember that?

For quite some time, I haven’t been “feeling it.”  And by “it,” I mean freakin’ life. I  don’t feel like writing or running. I don’t want to be productive, and I’m not overly inspired — at all. I’ve gained a few pounds, and I’ve been sort of sad lately. Essentially, not myself. 

I needed a pick-me-up that didn’t involve spending a ton money or therapy. And the thought of a girls’ night out (replete with drinking and complaining about our suck-ass mommy lives) wasn’t working its usual magic. So I decided to do something weird, and I drove 65 miles away from home to do it.

Was it super silly? Yup. Was it funny? Yup. Were those tiny creatures ridiculously cute, and did they lift my spirits and make me laugh out loud while trying to hold my downward dog? Yup, yup, and yup!

Simply put, those little jumping beans brought me back to life!

Let me be clear: Not for one second did I catch a Zen-like break or experience any sort of enlightenment. The goats climbed all over me. They bleated and screeched. They were curious, cuddly, and sleepy. They tried to eat everything in sight. One stuck its nose right into my ear and sniffed rapidly which freaked me the fuck out.

Kimberly Valzania

They licked my toes. They poked around and touched and leaned on me. They nibbled on my shirt, and my earlobes. I giggled incessantly while I defended myself against their relentless cuteness.

They didn’t care where they plopped themselves down or that they were all up in my business. They unexpectedly jumped into my lap. They tracked dirt and grass across my clean yoga mat. They pooped and peed nearby, and they were completely inappropriate and unpredictable. In other words, those kids were exactly like my own kids!

And just like my kids, they didn’t let me relax. In much the same way I don’t get a wink of sleep at home, there’s no final resting pose in baby goat yoga. Those who attempted Shavasana at the end of class were casually stepped on.

Yes, they are just like regular human children in so many ways, but guess what? You only have to be with them for an hour. That’s the beauty of baby goat yoga. Those little scrappers were corralled directly into a separate pen when we were done with class. And have I mentioned that they’re completely adorable?

I’m trying to put my finger on exactly why it was so special and what I came up with is quite simple: It was good, clean, unorganized, innocent fun. And that’s it. It was belly-laugh inducing which is always the best, most wonderful medicine to beat the blues. Being wrapped up in the trap of our kids all the time leaves no room for anything whimsical that is purely done for our own joyWhen we are busy cooking and cleaning and driving and yelling, we don’t take time for all the happy, untroubled breaths we really need.

Those little ones helped me slow down. They forced me to let go and feel “no strings” happiness for a whole hour without thinking about anything or anyone else. I didn’t make grocery lists in my head or count the laundry loads I would need to start at some point. For a short while, I didn’t worry about anything. Just being with them, twisting around inside their world for a bit, helped me exhale all the stresses that come with being a mommy.

This was an experience that sparked new fire within my bedraggled soul. It brought me back to the surface. Those creatures, those little living beings running around on a farm, were happy and carefree, which is how I must try to remember to be.

Mommies, I see you over there, and you need some baby goat yoga. You really, really do. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to sip some lemonade out of a mason jar, and put my freshly picked sunflower bouquet into a vintage cornflower blue vase that I’ll place in the center of my white-washed farm table.

Baaahh-maste!

About Yury Zvyagolskiy

Yury Zvyagolskiy
In almost all American movies there is a bad guy who is usually Russian and his name is Yury. If the bad guy is not from Russia, his last name usually starts with Z. So here I am - Yury Z. My specialty is personal effectiveness. I am an expert in goal achievement, personal effectiveness, relationships and effective thinking.

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