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If I have gained nothing else from my experiences with pregnancy, I have gained the ability to live like a cat, even if just for a few weeks. I have just realized what an awesome opportunity that is.
Having lived with cats for most of my life, I have often wished and even thought aloud how much I would like to be one. Aside from their inherent physical beauty -- and who wouldn't want to be sleek and mysterious looking? -- it's their lifestyle that draws me. What a life -- sleeping at will, slinking through passageways too narrow for the dogs that chase you, eating whatever and whenever you like. Imagine being able to climb on top of buildings to either dodge danger or simply get a better view of the neighbors. Scramble up trees out of harm's way without blinking an eye. Revelling in the sunbeams on the carpet or concrete, basking lazily in their warmth just because you can. Really not accomplishing much to speak of, except for the graceful art of being.
With my last pregnancy, and now this most recent, I am approaching the level of Mistress of those tasks which my cats have always mastered. When people call me and ask "what are you up to?", I want to respond "I'm making a baby", because I am.
Granted, this is not what I had in mind back in my twenties when I would dream ambitiously about being Super Mom. I envisioned working hard every day in my very important position somewhere, doing something that the world could not do without. After work, even throughout the pregnancy, I would jog, power-walk, lift weights, and maintain my optimum fat level for both fitness and pregnancy. I would bake bread from scratch, and make soup from bones, all while gardening my own organic vegetables. My spouse and I would frequent elegant nightspots, me in the latest elegant maternity wear. I would be Everywoman, and would glow through every minute of it.
Ah, the naiveté of youth. Before I even conceived the first time, I intuitively took up yoga, believing that it would be a good transitional exercise in my last months of pregnancy. After my first miscarriage and the terrible shattering of those dreams, I at first felt trapped by my apparent inability to follow through with my lofty goals. My doctors even said that it was not my level or type of activity that induced the loss, and this was proved with testing after my second miscarriage. However, there is nothing that the doctors can say to convince me. Even gentle yoga has taken a backseat. I am determined to practically immobilize my body during each pregnancy, until finally one is successful and I am fulfilled as a mother.
So, instead of living the life that I had dreamed of prior to knowing the loss of a child, I am learning to live like a cat and love it. Here is my chance to yawn whenever I feel like it, unashamed, and stretch out on the couch. My patio, sans vegetable garden, is an oasis of tinkling windchimes, dappled sun, and manageable potted plants while I doze in my lounge chair. Appointments are often cancelled or postponed, particularly if they are scheduled for the afternoon, and phone calls go unreturned. At these early stages of pregnancy, I have around four hours in the morning before my stomach calls for breakfast redux, which is often, for some reason, chicken broth. Then about two lazy hours before a nice, big lunch, and then -- naptime.
I don't sleep solidly until dinnertime, mind you. I literally drape my limbs over the back of the couch or lounge chair (never the bed), and drift in and out, usually with a silly smile on my face. My dreams are vivid and strange, but never recountable. I may change positions or even get up and saunter into the kitchen for a drink or a banana, but I definitely do not tackle anything important that needs to be done. My cats join me, often cozying up on my belly or against a leg, and the dogs, too, think the whole affair is just great. I'm doing what they do, and they totally understand it. I may not be Super Mom, but I am making a baby. That's quite enough for now.
© Tracy Morris
