If Jackson were an animal, he would be a bird. Vibrating his lips together and making a high-pitched hum, Jackson flaps his little arms up and down as he bounces on his bottom. I like to flap my mommy bird wings and join him in flight, and Jackson just stares at me.

Today we took Jane Austin's class at Yoga Tree Valencia. The studio, long and narrow with hardwood floors, offers great reverberation. My baby bird was clearly pleased with the acoustics as he proudly preformed his new song for everyone. I resisted the urge to chime in.

It is rare that I do much more in yoga class than nurse or play, so I seized the opportunity for a workout. As I breathed into sun salutations, my mind was far from clear. I had mixed emotions fighting for priority in my consciousness; I was happy that Jackson could sit alone on his blanket but sad that he didn't need me. Apparently I have a surplus of post-pregnancy hormones roaming freely in my body.

I stopped to rest in child's pose. With my face to the mat, my hands felt their way to Jackson. I playfully tickled his legs and belly while he continued to tweet. Before I knew it, he had turned around and grabbed a handful of my hair. He proceeded to pull until I could feel each hair ripping out at the root. I screamed silently as I removed the giant clump of hair from his little hand and put it in my diaper bag for later disposal.

Jackson's beautiful song abruptly ended in a loud scream. Was this the finale he had practiced? Or did he need me again? I scooped up my small bundle of joy, gave him kisses and cuddles, and told him we could practice yoga together. We were working on abs, and I could use him for a counter weight.

I lied on my back with Jackson sitting on my stomach. Holding him with one hand, I had my other hand behind my head as I was attempting to do at least one crunch. Jackson had another plan. His tiny hands and feet worked as a team to push my shirt up and pull it down at the same time. Each day brings him new strength, and today I believe he was capable of helping himself to milk. Did I dare to continue my crunches while he nursed? As quickly as the absurd thought crossed my mind, it vanished. I returned my vision of tight abs to the back burner and did what a mommy bird does best: I fed my baby.