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I sink down onto a yoga mat once I’m in the room, drop my backpack beside me, and unwrap Zayn from the carrier. I need to feed him before class and made sure to arrive early. This is a top off feeding because seeing me lean over him during the stretches seems to make him hungry.

Silly boy.

I use the fabric of my wrap to cover myself enough to feel comfortable and latch Zayn on my nipple. I rub under his chin to remind him to eat and not play, my full attention on him. I don’t care if nursing makes others annoyed, though I’ve yet to have any issues. There are strict laws to support my right to breastfeed and I usually have people tell me what a good job I’m doing with my son.

I don’t get to hear this outside of my family. I appreciate it, even if it’s from strangers.

“Ooh. Are we sleepy already?” I whisper, fixing my shirt as my baby’s caramel eyes begin to close. I make sure to drink water as I watch him, because I’m always thirsty these days. “That’s okay. Schedules are for the birds, huh?”

“When they’re little, they’ll do what they want,” a woman says softly beside me. I glance over to find her smiling at me, her own baby snuggling with her. “I know not everyone agrees with me, but I’ve been held hostage in the car more than once during a sneak attack nap with my toddler. I have three. Damien is my last baby.”

“A tiny army of kids,” I say with a grin. “I only say that because they run the show and they know it.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says. “I’m Bethany. I meant to introduce myself in the last class but Damien was fussy.”

“Isla,” I reply. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zayn huffs out an adorable little sigh and I lay him down in front of me, my scent in the fabric surrounding him.

The yoga instructor comes into the room and begins to play soft music. I lose myself to the stretches she leads us in, knowing this kind of exercise is what I need. It builds up my appetite and helps me sleep better at night. She only offers the class twice a week, but I tell myself I need to make an effort to attend them all.

Zayn will be too old for this class before I know it, and it’ll be more difficult for me to make time for myself.

At the end of class, I take my time getting ready. I wrap Zayn up again, grab my things, swing by the bathroom for myself and him, before finally heading back out. Everything takes longer to do these days, which is why I try to give myself grace when I’m running late.

“Oh,” I say, remembering something before I pass the receptionist desk. “Do you know if you need any drawing classes on your roster for kids, Andy? I thought it may be fun to offer it.”

“I didn’t know you could draw,” she says, looking for the coordinator. “Tara was just talking about a sketch class for teenagers.”

I’m a very private person. I don’t tell people anything.

“Teens?” I ask. Ugh, I don’t have a great track record with this age group, and I’m still a teen myself.

“Tara,” Andy calls out, waving her over. “Yeah, a couple of the high schoolers were asking if we had drawing classes. Tara’s been looking for someone.”

There’s no time to backpedal because the tall, buxom blonde that runs the rec center is headed this way.

“What’s up?” she asks, glancing between us. “I see Zayn is awake today.”

I huff out a small laugh as I look down at him. His hands are holding tightly to my shirt as he gives me a happy smile, and I pat his diapered bottom.

“He took a good nap during yoga.”

“Isla wanted to know if she could take care of our beginner drawing class,” Andy says. “What do you think?”

“Do you have any photos of your work?” Tara asks.

I pull out my phone and find an album of my sketches to show her, and her lips part as she looks at them.

“You’re really good,” she hisses.

“I was just thinking about how much I love this and wanted to offer my time, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle a teenage class,” I confess.

“Oh, no one will be rude to you. I’ll kick them out,” she says. “We don’t allow that kind of behavior. None of us get paid enough for it. You’re offering your expertise but not your time for free. We pay all of our instructors, Isla.”

“Can’t I volunteer instead? I really don’t want to be paid,” I say, blushing as I begin to sway slowly. Some people have the mom sway, I have perfected the POTS sway.

“No,” Tara says sweetly. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll have you fill out some paperwork. I also know these kids and they’re really sweet but very bored. You’ll be doing us all a favor by keeping them out of trouble. I need to buy supplies for your class, which means we’ll start in a couple of weeks to give people time to sign up.”