Yoga-Earth-Mother Goddess Checks In

Baby Done Dropped

I do believe the baby has dropped (this means he’s dropped down a bit, his head engaged in the pelvic area and all ready to get squeezed out – totally normal behavior for a 37 week old fetus.)  My first clue was a hangy-down belly.  My second was that I peed 6 times during my 6 hours of sleep last night – ugh.  My third and favorite clue was that I can NOW TAKE A DEEP BREATH AGAIN, oh thank you Jesus, and I don’t even mind the smooshed bladder.  Smoosh the bladder, spare the lungs, I say.

Some women at work have matter of factly told me that he has not dropped and they can tell by looking at me without a doubt, and others have just as confidently informed me that he dropped last week and I should be tidying up my affairs in preparation for my imminent labor, so I’ve decided that this more than anything proves how futile it is to listen to anybody else when it comes to your own pregnancy and baby.  I smile, I nod, I thank them, and then I change the subject.  Truly, I appreciate that they care and are so enthusiastic.  This is just the beginning of a lifetime of having to face lovely, well-meaning people giving me parental instructions as if they were concrete fact, and also a near-lifetime of being prone to grumpiness and irritability due to lack of sleep, so I might as well start practicing hearing (and discarding) these statements with grace.

Didja hear me just say that?  Isn’t it cool how easy it is to misrepresent yourself as a beneficent, peaceful, yoga-earth-mother goddess in writing?  Especially when the only person who reads this and also interacts with you on a daily basis is your husband, and you’ve got enough secrets on him to keep him quiet for the rest of his life.

Dreaming Time

I had many dreams last night that I recall.  I won’t share them all, but this was my favorite.

Patrick and I were standing on the shore of a frozen lake in the middle of winter.  I tentatively took a few steps out onto the ice to test it, and finding it pretty solid, I reached out for a slim young tree and began skating circles around it, laughing out loud and calling to Patrick to join me.  I stopped circling and looked for Patrick, and suddenly noticed that the tide had come in, and the lakeshore was now almost a mile away.  What’s worse, suddenly the ice had melted, leaving me clinging to the tree in the middle of an icy cold river, with no way to get back onto dry land.  Patrick!  I cried.  I need a boat!  Get me a boat, hurry!  I could see his tiny figure on the shore, and though he was far away I could hear him say calmly in my ear – don’t worry, I’m coming.  He sat down and methodically removed his shoes and rolled up his jeans, and then began to wade into the freezing water to fetch me, never rushing, never in a panic, just purposeful and assured.  The water never got any deeper than his thighs, and there was no current.  When he got to the tree, he took my hands and helped me out of it, and told me that the cold was only in my mind, and really we could both make it back to shore, we just had to keep walking.  I hadn’t been pregnant before in the dream, but I was now, heavy and unstable, prone to falls, but I made my way with him behind me, steadying me at the waist, murmuring encouragement.  We reached the ice edge a few feet from shore, and he helped me up and over chunks of treacherous ice, pushing me onto dry land.  When we both were standing together in the trees of the shoreline, I turned and smiled, and he smiled back, and took my hand and said See, I told you we’d be ok.

You’re supposed to fixate on a memory or idea during labor to help get you through.  Some people hold a baby outfit, or a picture of a tropical beach, or of their spouse as an infant.  I think this dream memory will be mine. 

Virgil

The Scourge sleeps in the funniest positions.  Getting up frequently at night has allowed me to watch him, sprawled and snoring, legs in the air, head hanging off the pillow that I made for him out of some old drapes.  I always laugh at the sight of him.  I would laugh at Patrick, too, if I wasn’t so annoyed with him for stealing my pillow, which he does nightly.  Grrrrrrr.