Thoughts on Pregnancy

I meant to do more writing here throughout my pregnancy.  Only it didn't happen.  Part of the reason for that is that pregnancy turned out to be much more of an internal process/journey than I had anticipated.  Balancing that with a job that takes a lot of external energy didn't leave me with a lot if any extra energy to do things like visit with friends, write here, etc.

However, I have now been off of work for a week and so feel that I have the space to do some of that writing that I've been wanting to do.

I know that this first observation is true about life itself, but being pregnant made it much more apparent - most people experience your life through theirs.  Your pregnancy serves as a conduit for someone else to tell you their story.

I think that a big part of pregnancy is being able unattach (which apparently is not a dictionary recognized word) yourself from ways of being, from concepts of self and opening yourself up to the unknown - both the unknown of parenthood, but also the unknown of self.  It's about accepting that a huge transformation is about to take place, but that you have no idea what that transformation is or will be.

And, I have been reminded since I started "waiting" for this little girl to decide she is ready to be born that our brains are not always very useful in life.  Despite my best efforts to just be present with what is happening, I find my brain taking over and creating scenarios and expectations.  Maybe with the full moon, maybe after this next acupuncture appointment, maybe with the upcoming new moon.....  These scenarios create stress and pressure, and they distance me from my intuition, from my ability to be present.  And the reality is if I'm going to "know" anything about what she is doing in there, it certainly isn't going to come from my brain. 

On the mat, off the mat

My yoga practice has been a very instructive teacher as of late, and the lessons learned on the mat have surfaced off the mat as well.

1. Respecting where I am. On the mat: The focus of my practice has changed. It is no longer about pushing myself a little bit in each pose and trying more challenging versions of the poses. Now, my practice focuses exclusively on creating more space inside of me - it doesn't matter that I can still touch my nose to my shin in that pose if I squish the baby. That pose is now one where length and space is created. Having a daily practice has also become increasingly important in maintaining that space as my tummy grows increasingly large. Off the mat: I've noticed more and more that as a society we value and respect productivity, people's ability to carry on through whatever they have going on in their lives as if those things aren't happening. Honoring oneself and where one is at does not carry the same value for most people: that space, for the most part, has to be created oneself. And, from an outsider's perspective, it might not look like much, but sometimes the greater challenge is in the creation space.

2. Hello old habit! On the mat: As my body changes, I must regularly be reacquainted with both it and previously familiar poses. In that process old habits return: my pelvis tilts to the back, tension returns to my neck. I know these habits, we're well-acquainted, and it was through years of practice that I learned new habits. And, so, on this big spiral of life I once again bring awareness these old habits and begin my work towards new ones. Off the mat: I also find myself in emotional spaces that I am intimately familiar with as they have been with me for quite some time. Like my physical habits, I have worked to develop new ways of being, new understandings. Returning to these places can be hard, but they are the work of life.

Bodies of knowledge

For me, my body has become a metaphor for the bigger picture of my life.


For awhile I was, as Seth said, boobs and a beer belly: a period of transition. And, for now, I've felt that my life was in a similar transitional space. I've been moving forward on my path, making my practices a priority, and waiting. Waiting for something to appear because I knew that where I was was not where I would end up, but not sure of anything other than that.

In the past few weeks, it has become much more clear that the cause of my belly is not beer, but rather a baby. And, during that period, I have had some insights, some flashes of clarity. It's as if the baby and I are coming in to being together: growing, solidifying, becoming stronger.

I can't wait to meet both of us.

Moon wisdom

Yesterday my tea bag told me that wisdom becomes knowledge through personal experience.

This morning, I did my first downward facing dog in a week and a half, and as my legs and arms straightened something was different, really different. There was a weight in my belly that was new in this position; it was a new position.

Tonight, under the clear sky with the moon and stars shining down I think about the wisdom of the moon, my grandmothers, my mother, and the generations of women who have come before me. And, sitting out under that moonlight ask and hope that some of their wisdom can become knowledge for me.

Growing Belly, Growing Heart

It seems to me that as my belly is growing bigger, so is my heart. It is both opening and growing. Today at the grocery store, I stopped and looked at a Valentine's day display. I mean I really looked at it: I think I touched almost every single item that was part of the display. And, then, I thought to myself, "You know a holiday to let someone know how much you love them is a nice thing."

Those are hormones, you say. And, while I agree, there are hormones at play: I'm sure, for instance, that my weeping during commercials or during shows on network television is hormonally influenced.

However, I don't think that it is just hormones. It feels more permanent than that.

It feels as though my heart is getting ready to experience a whole new type of love.

Practice 2

Breathing in big, tall trees.

I breath in the smell of the wet ground, the trees, leaves fallen from the trees, and I grow taller.

I breath out the city, people, work, and I grow deeper.

I breath in and my heart expands.

I breath out and the weight around it disappears.

The rain runs down my nose. It covers my glasses in raindrops.

I can't see with them, and without them the forest is an impressionist painting.

Without my glasses my hike becomes a practice of feeling rather than one of seeing.

Feeling first, sight second.

So we walk - me feeling, Sappho smelling. And, I can know where she is when I feel instead of look. We are working together.

And, then there is the sense of fall in the forest - it is peaceful and calm.

Death in the forest has a softness to it and a sense of hope and promise.

The trunks of trees meet the ground like elephant feet.

So we walk.

Practice I

I've been noticing lately the moments when I have an understanding of something and then observe things that I interpret to support that understanding versus when I observe things and then reach an understanding.

I think the best example I have of this is a snowshoeing trip that Seth and I took last winter for my birthday/solstice/full moon. We rented a Forest Service Cabin for two nights - getting to the cabin required snowshoeing. The cabin a bit of a drive, and we never leave quite as early as we think we will, so when we arrived, the amount of sunlight we had left was limited. However, it didn't seem to be a problem as we only had to snowshoe three miles to the cabin. We started off and after not too long came to an intersection. We looked at the map and found the junction we thought we were at. However, the junction we were at didn't quite match the map. Never mind, we go to the right. So, up the hill we went, but after awhile, we stopped and looked at the map again - this didn't seem right. According to the map we should have been headed down a hill by now. We continued a little farther and then decided we had taken the wrong path and headed back down the hill. By this time it was getting dark, but that was okay because even with a completely overcast sky, the full moon lit up the night. We got back to our intersection, discussed the possibilities for a bit, and then headed down another path. We hiked on that one for quite a ways and then decided that a curve it took didn't seem right. Up until this point, we had resisted getting the compass out as we had packed it into the middle of one of the backpacks. However we decided it was time to get it out - and voila, it told us that the path we were on was not the right one. So, we headed up the hill we had just come down back to our original intersection. This time we used the compass at this intersection too, and only then, our third time being here, did we realize that the we were not at the intersection that we thought we were at. And, the first path that we had chosen had, in fact, been the correct path. So, back up the hill we went. When we finally arrived at the intersection that we had thought we were at before, and we were both exhausted. Seth's boots had worn all the skin off the backs of both of his heels, and, we still had a mile or so left to hike. That last stretch took us forever - we had to stop every few steps to rest. When we arrived at the cabin, I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life. We had packed our backpacks heavy because we thought we were snowshoeing three miles maximum, and we had covered eight miles by the end of the night.

So, lately I've been noticing how this happens in other instances in my life. I come to an understanding and then observe to support that understanding.

And, I've been practicing. Practicing stilling my brain so that I can just observe, just listen. And, then, only when I have done those things allow myself to come to an understanding. Or, if I'm practicing very hard, not come to and understanding at all, but rather just stay with the observations.