deep inside the mind of a yoga teacher

As my brother asked (pregnant) me immediately before giving his (unsolicited) opinion on Ghoulie's given name, "Are you feeling particularly sensitive right now?"
If so, stop reading now.
Okay, fine. But I warned you.

***

Sorry about the hiatus. Up to a week and a half ago, I had been teaching exactly half of my regular classes. The other half run in eight week sessions, and the new session started last week. And -- surprise, surprise -- ten yoga classes a week is a lot more demanding than five! Who would have guessed?
A new session always means brand new students, which means observing vigilantly while thinking, "Oh please please please stop bending your knee in like that, you're going to hurt yourself BADLY," but saying to the class, "Remember, keep your quads engaged and your knees straight." And then continuing to watch said new person, thinking, "No, no, no -- what the hell are you doing?" then approaching them to say sweetly and serenely (because I am, after all, a yoga teacher), "Good job, but press your heel even more to straighten your knee all the way. Almost there. Keep working with that." I suppose I wouldn't get so annoyed if it wasn't usually the skinny, pretty little waifs with perfect butts who seem to have no body awareness. Of course, with no body awareness I suppose it's easier to starve yourself thin. (Was that over the line? Is that going to generate hate mail? Don't mind me, it's just that I have five stubborn pounds left to lose, and they aren't going anywhere. Yes, that is accounting for extra milk-making fat stores.) But at least I know how to straighten my knees!
Shut up, self, shut up.
I love my job. I love that I chose this career path (yes, for some people, teaching yoga is a career, not just a side job during college) without even realizing how compatible it would be with motherhood. The problem is, this particular career requires working with people. And when I am tired and overwhelmed, sometimes, I just don't like people.
There. I said it. I'll say it again: Sometimes, I don't like people.
I would apologize, except that I suspect everyone I know -- probably everyone, period -- feels the same way on occasion. And also, I don't think there's anything wrong with it.
Maybe I should qualify this, just to avoid any misunderstanding. There is a line in my family, reserved for difficult teenagers, that goes like this: "I love you, but I don't like you right now." (I can't stress this enough. This line is strictly for teenage children and should never, ever be used on a spouse. Ever.) The point of that mildly stinging insult is, it is entirely possible to care deeply for someone, but not want to be around him/her. And that is my attitude toward most human beings once in a while. My students, fellow customers in the grocery store, the stranger on the other end of the phone line. I care deeply about the human race. I love my students, honestly I do. I am concerned about their happiness and well-being. But sometimes, they bug me.
Don't worry. By tomorrow, I will feel favorably toward the human race once again.
Ghoulie, thankfully, is at her most charming, pleasant, and happy this week. And as far as work goes, all I can hope is that the pattern continues -- that when my students challenge me, Ghoulie is a dream baby. And that once she starts teething, those skinny girls will have finally figured out how to straighten their freaking knees.