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It's trendy to be Zen. It's trendy to be a parent. Ergo, it's ultratrendy to be a Zenned-out parent. Witness the recent explosion of kidcentric yoga studios and massage classes. But you have to wonder: Isn't the concept of chilling out with a child in tow a bit oxymoronic? Sure, you can relax if you've booked a baby-sitter along with that massage. And yes, with a lot of rocking and reading, you can get your kid to simmer down—but that's hard work. So we decided to see if it's possible for parent and baby to get centered together. My partner in crime was the ultimate tough customer: Edie, a 14-month-old who's drunk with her newly acquired power to stand on her own two feet.
Story-Time Yoga
I understand postnatal yoga (a newborn, after all, will pretty much just lie there while you find your lotus position). I even get yoga for, say, three-year-olds (who can resist all those funny poses and names?). But yoga for tots between the ages of one and three? I was skeptical. Then I walked into the colorful yet calming space that Karma Kids has created on West 14th Street. My cutie-pie immediately oohed at the ribbon curtains, picked up stuffed flowers scattered about the room and plopped down on the middle of a purple mat, as if she knew class were about to start. For the next 25 minutes, our instructor used animal puppets and storybooks to inspire the kids to mimic simple poses. Edie managed a few on her own (elephant and frog), and we worked on others together (she especially liked crawling under my "down dog")—when she wasn't making a break for those curtains. Just as we began to feel like we'd had enough, the class ended with a delightful little finale: a teeny-tiny foot rub for teeny-tiny feet. All in all, I was surprised at how much my daughter could do, understand and enjoy. But was it relaxing? Not very. Out-of-shape moms (take it from one who knows) will find it to be no less work than the classic mommy-and-me gym class. Then again, we were feeling pretty right with the world as we made our way home.
Karma Kids Yoga, 104 W 14th St at Sixth Ave (646-638-1444; www.karmakidsyoga.com). $8 per half-hour session.
Baby-Massage Class
Edie loved that foot rub so much, I became obsessed with taking her to a baby-massage class. I quickly discovered that while everyone offers them, most limit enrollment to noncrawling infants. But because massage pretty much jump-started the whole bond-with-baby craze, I was determined to locate a class. Ultimately, I turned to Maternal Massage and More, where we attended a class that was populated largely by infants. We toddled into a big room that had a padded floor and a relaxing vibe; the space was filled with moms and babies so tiny, my peanut looked like a marauding giant. I staked out a spot near the door so we could make a quick getaway should baby Goliath start trampling the squirts, but she stayed put much longer than I expected. She clearly liked what was on the menu: If I stopped rubbing her fingers, for instance, she spread them out for more stroking. But even though the other moms weren't the slightest bit bothered by our squirming, I couldn't relax—and I wanted the pace to quicken. Edie and I highly recommend this class, particularly for moms with infants. Still,our search continued....
Maternal Massage and More, 108 E 16th St between Union Sq East and Irving Pl (212-533-3188; www.maternalmassageandmore.com). $45 per class.
Private Massage Class
Enter Alix Keast, a licensed massage therapist in private practice. She'll lead a class at either your home or her office, if you pull the group together (she suggests no more than four parent-baby pairs). Keast arrived for an hour-long session chez moi, toting a demonstration doll, a bagful of colorful duckies and printed step-by-step instructions. Then she let the kids (duckies in hand) set the pace as she taught us a ten-minute Chinese pediatric routine (including finger and tummy strokes) designed to help promote parent-kid closeness and good health. Was the class chaotic? Sure. Sometimes, when moms yinned, the kids yanged, and when we rubbed, they ran. But Keast's soothing manner and sensitivity to the toddler psyche kept things as tranquil as possible. The bottom line is that some toddlers (like mine) will love their rubdown, and others won't sit still for more than a minute; mostly, it's a pleasant way to hang with friends and learn a few moves, especially if you (like me) couldn't take a class before your babe learned to crawl.
For more information, call 212-362-4341. $85 in-office session, $110 at home.
Mother's Knitting Circle
Knitting might be the new yoga, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out how long needles plus distracted parents plus little mobile menaces could equal a soothing experience. Then I met Jane Kornbluh of the Parenting and Family Center at the Sol Goldman Y, creator of one of the most ingenious parent-kid classes of all time. Held in a sun-filled room equipped with toddler mats and play equipment, her knitting "circle" is actually a row of parents who face their frolicking kids. Kornbluh doled out comfy wooden needles and irresistibly gorgeous designer yarns (no cheesy acrylic here). As we purled hats, Edie was having a ball—a second instructor kept a watchful eye on the wandering kids, just a few feet away. I bared all to the women beside me (real estate, nursing, lack of sleep...) in a way I hadn't done before at a parenting group, and the class flew by. We left relaxed and happy but without a finished product (a hat takes about five visits).
The Parenting and Family Center, Sol Goldman Y, 344 E 14th St between First and Second Aves (212-780-0800, ext 236). Five-class series $80, plus a $15 materials fee.
Feng Shui
Because I had become totally converted to the "get calm with your kid" craze, I decided to bring the vibe home. But is it possible to achieve tranquility in the chaos of a tiny New York City bedroom shared by a toddler and a four-year-old? I turned to expert Benjamin Huntington, of the Feng Shui Institute of America, who also happens to be a certified interior designer. One of his first suggestions—hanging an icon on the kids' bedroom door to demarcate their space and discourage too much energy from flowing in (the room is at the end of a long hallway)—made me skeptical. But when he explained why Edie's crib should be placed farther from the door, I warmed to his advice, since my instincts had been telling me the same for a while. I climbed all the way on board when Huntington had me down on my knees so I could see the room from a kid's perspective. Things looked scary, even threatening from down there. Take, for example, the stuffed animals I'd artfully arranged on a high shelf: The kids saw a mess of disembodied limbs flopping over the side. By the end of his visit, Huntington had offered at least a dozen doable changes, none of which involved crystals and all of which made good sense. By the time I'd finished flipping furniture, clearing out old toys and placing rugs to create play and rest areas, it felt so right in there, I didn't want to leave. And, I kid you not, my little girl slept through the night for the first time in two weeks. Now, that's what I call relaxing.
For more information, call 212-213-9698 or visit www.fengshui-ny.com. $250 per hour.
