Motivation. Or the lack thereof.

Sunday-cloudy, Cullen's last soccer game was yesterday

I have a confession to make. I have done the bare minimum all week. The least amount of dishes/laundry/cooking possible, had the kids reading and working in workbooks instead of hands-on activities, and my house looks like hell.

Don't get me wrong, we still went to park day, library storytime, etc. But I know good and well that every free moment I had was spent re-reading a 12 book series and certainly was not used to wash dishes, some of which have been sitting in there all week. Gross and true. I spend my early mornings reading, my mid-mornings doing school with the kidlets, afternoons feeling queasy and reading, and evenings scraping together something for dinner, feeling like I'm going to chuck, and reading, and then staying up rather late reading because I know I won't be able to sleep anyway.

After a few days I began to wonder "Why?" Why would I suddenly be completely unmotivated, uncaring, and lethargic? Why this obsession with reading for days on end?

Last night it hit me. I'm literally escaping, carving time out of this pregnancy. 1st trimester feels so unfair. No one gets to know I'm pregnant, I feel sick all the time, I'm tired and unmotivated, so let me just cuddle here with the book, try to forget how I feel, try to forget how much time I still have until I'll be showing, until I can feel the kicks, until I get to *enjoy* what little bit of pregnancy is enjoyable.

Funny thing is: it worked. I've missed an entire week of my life, barely scraping enough highlights together to fill perhaps 10 hours. I've essentially jumped from week 7.3 to week 8.3 without even realizing it. It didn't feel like a week had passed; it felt like I read some books, took time for my kids, and read some more. I didn't notice the nausea as much because when it got really, really bad, I would distract myself with reading and a chocolate popsicle.

So it worked and I'm now at 8.3. Everything we ever learn tells us to enjoy every minute, be productive, work hard. Yet, other than feeling a bit embarrassed about the state of my kitchen, what's wrong with escaping for a time, whether it be reading, watching a complete series, fishing, playing tennis, etc. Now that I'm feeling a bit more motivated (thank you NKOTB webstream), I'm going to clean my kitchen. Once my house is back together, no one will be the wiser. In fact, this week might be more memorable than others 10 years from now, simply because I existed and the world did not fall apart. "They" say you have to work hard all the time...I'm beginning to wonder if that's really true.

Then again, I might just be lazy and irresponsible and a slob. For an entire week out of 31 years? I'm okay with that.

Evolutionary purpose of...

Sunday, 4/15/12, 72 and breezy. Front garden complete!

What is the evolutionary purpose of morning sickness? Why would it be beneficial to want to chuck every few minutes all day? Is there a lesson in this madness that is first trimester?

I found non-alcoholic beer that doesn't suck and I'm enjoying the feeling of normalcy. I'll get to have beer like everyone else at the cookout this afternoon. Yet, after having a bit of cheeseburger for lunch, I don't feel like eating or drinking anything. In fact, the thought of drinking beer (which I've had several hangovers from in my years) doesn't go well with queasiness.

Perhaps it was to warn women to watch what they eat/drink. Maybe there's just too much influx of new hormones and chemicals that the body has no way to cope except screaming "what are you doing to me!?" Barf.

I haven't actually thrown up, yet, but I held it closely together the whole time with my daughter, too. All I can hope is to hold it together this time, too, and wait for these first three months to be over and done with.

Contrarily, I'm trying to enjoy whatever parts of this there are to enjoy. Logically speaking, this will be my last pregnancy and I should savor it. Yeah, not so much. Some things in life just suck and normal levels of morning sickness is one of them. Brigid's answer: suck up your whining, pretty britches. Sometimes you just have to deal with it the best you can and keep on keeping on. My response: pffffffffffffffffftttt! :p

Weird Dreams

Friday, April 15, sunny and mildly warm, game day with Grandpa

I always have the weirdest dreams when pregnant. There's a whole lot of miscarriage dreams that usually freak me out and make me cling to DH's arm the rest of the night. I had two of those in the last two nights, each frightening in its own way.

I don't set too much stock in dreams, especially when they come as frequently as this. But I do wonder: is there a message in all of this? Is my psyche and subconscious trying to frantically catch up to where my body already is? The little parasite (awww) is still barely above cell dividing level. Still no real placenta, the heartbeat barely detectable; in truth, it's barely a speck, smaller than the ball on my tongue ring. Yet, it's having a profound effect on my sleep, dreams, waking thoughts, conversations, diet, and everything else. In less than 3 weeks, I have been successfully commandeered. How odd.

When I did my morning devotional yesterday, I was all down on myself for feeling lazy, sluggish. For the first time ever, I felt completely released from that guilt. It's okay that my house isn't spotless or my laundry kept up on. It's even okay that my kids have done less-than-desirable amounts of school work this week, since it is, you know, Spring Break.

It's okay because I'm making a baby. I am growing this little lentil bean and I need to continue to listen to my body, even when it says "chill out." The guilt is the hard part to overcome, but I felt it completely release, and I'm thanking Brigid for it.

Justified or just hateful?

I've been wondering a lot lately about whether anger is justified or if I'm just being a hateful bitch. I feel the hormones coursing through me, like PMS; I recognize the surge of energy. Yet, it seems that I'm simply more likely to speak my mind and not put up with other people's crap. Cleaning up after a 29 year old man...yeah, not happening today. Listening patiently to the 4 year old that cries over every. little. thing. Not so much. In fact, hell no, and unless you're hurt, I really don't care to hear you cry for the fourth time in 10 minutes. And my wonderful son, who tries so hard to make me happy? Used almost an entire bottle of cleaner on the bathroom floor, even after being shown how to put it in the sink and mix it with water. Just dumped it on the floor and smeared it around with toilet paper. GAH!

See? I can tell that I'm bitchy and irritable. But when is that justified? Should I put up with the husband that doesn't even clean up after himself? Should I let the youngest child cry over every thing that doesn't go like she wants it to? When do I put my foot down and when do *I* suck it up?

No idea, but these hormones either need to chill out or everyone in this house is gonna hate me. The problem is...I may be handling it wrong, but I feel completely justified in *why* I'm upset.

First Symptom and an astral THUMP!

4/4/12 Warm, breezy, took a nice bike ride with pretty, puffy clouds in the sky

Last night was my first real pregnancy symptom, besides the usual bloated, crampy, starting my period feeling. I had the most amazing vivid dreams, including both of my children, my husband, my sister, some really cool escape from a dungeon stuff. I also had a nursing infant that someone was trying to claim as her own and I went all Mother Bear on her ass.

Then I dreamed that I was telling my mom that I was pregnant. My conscious mind started to wake and in that lucid state I was like "well, I do know how to bring her. It's something I've done before." So I called to her and asked her to come. I felt her excitement and forward movement and then THUMP! I heard/saw some words that might have translated to HMPT HWUY. After a moment I realized that we have wards all over our home/hearth/covenstead, not to mention personal Deities on the lookout. Honestly, it felt like she hit a really solid barrier. I was almost snapped awake and I certainly became more thinking and less feeling. Piecing it all together, I asked Brigid to escort me to her, kind of like meeting on a fence-line. There I slipped back mostly into a dream state, but I remember telling my mom that I was pregnant and hugging her.

I woke soon after, or at least nothing else of consequence happened. In those first awake moments, loss and pain at not being able to physically tell my mom, the profound absence of sharing those experiences with my own mother, were unbearable. To make matters worse, I felt jealous of my sister being able to have those experiences, being able to have mom there with her first two children--something I will never have. But it was fleeting and what remained was joy at feeling like I did share it with my mom, even if limited.

Traveling in astral while lucid is not recommended. It's extremely uncomfortable when rushing forward and can be rather unpredictable, but at least in this case, it certainly had its benefits. I think the lesson is rather obvious. I have long since joined the ranks of the Mother, but it's quite another experience entirely to have your own Mother welcome you. Part of the right of passage for both Mother and Daughter is in sharing that experience. I fully intend on contacting her again, but in a purposeful, meditative state where I'm much more comfortable, moving like a well-versed shaman rather than a disembodied changeling.

On the well-trodden Path

4/2/12 Cloudy, chilly when the wind blows, baking a chicken for family dinner tonight

How many times in the existence of the world has a woman given birth? Time and time again, without number, the billions of people alive today, then throughout all of Earth's history, each of those people born of a woman. Yet with all of those 9'ish month gestations, each was personal, sacred. It is certainly a well-trodden path; personal and intimate to the woman that experiences it.

I tested positive today on a home pregnancy test, after going beyond my "Monday deadline" of knowing I was pregnant. At that point, it was confirmation of what I already knew and was more of an afterthought. But I had pictures of both of my other kids' tests, so I didn't want to not have the picture for the baby book.

Nowadays, it's so easy to be connected, and even easier to lose connection through "connecting." Within five minutes, I had a due date (google "due date calculator") of Dec. 5, a board of women all expecting in that same month, had texted my husband at work to let him know it was definitely yes, and called my best friend to let her know. I had not seen *anyone* face to face nor their responses. I didn't feel connected spiritually to anyone through the revelation; no one hugged me or saw my face light up. There was an impersonal quality about it all. And that kind of sucks.

I get to tell my family and the world at large at week 12. That means I have no one else to tell, no one to share it with, no validation until June 5, my 32nd birthday. For me, that's 11 weeks of torture, of keeping a secret, of pretending not to be pregnant when all I want to do is shout it to the world.

In this, I will learn the secrets of To Keep (Silent). To revel in secret knowledge, to take pleasure in having a secret between just a few people. Right now it's killing me, but it will be a good lesson to learn.

Waiting on waiting

3/29/12 Sunny, warm, kids in the swimming pool for the first time this season, husband out of town

The odd thing about a missed period is that in and of itself, it is completely inconclusive. As I sat in the fenced in backyard, drinking a beer in the hazy late afternoon, I wondered that I might be pregnant, since my moon flow did not occur that morning. Should it occur today? Did I get the days wrong?

I felt crampy, bloated, experienced a pretty intense mood swing, exactly like when my period should start, yet by all measures, I was now officially "late." It would be my last day drinking, unless my blood flow started, a farewell of sorts to being a singular person. Two and a half years had passed since my youngest weaned and I became a person again instead of nourishment. I could drink freely, take medications, whatever, and it would not have any physical impact on anyone else. Honestly, it was fantastic to take a few years off from having a child attached to my breast or within my body. I won't lie, I'm going to miss being a singular person. No matter, though, because it will be worth it, a minor sacrifice of 2-3 years for the privilege of raising a child, of growing our family.

Here's the tricky part...there was no joy. I wasn't testing because I wanted to feel the way it's supposed to feel before all those newfangled home pregnancy tests. And there was no joy, no celebration, no confirmation. Simply waiting. Waiting to see if my period would show or not. Waiting to see which symptoms I would experience first. Just waiting on waiting on...Time to pass, I think. Enough time to pass that it is unlikely that my period was just late. Could be days or weeks before any definitive signs could show up. I decided Time would be Monday. If I had nothing by Monday (five days late), I would know that I was pregnant.

What an ambiguous state of being. To feel *exactly* like you're starting your period, yet not having it. Totally expecting blood flow, yet none came. Afraid to get your hopes up, still unable to keep a little ray of hope from peeking in. I might be pregnant. There might be life within me. If I think about it for more than a second, I feel my maternal energy raise. I could be pregnant right this very minute.

The Goddess speaks through the waiting. In ambiguity, there is room for both hope and doubt. As long as there is room for hope, there it will be. Let there be hope in our world, where it can flourish, and love may grow.

Blood

2/29/12 Leap day, Sunny, cool, driving all day to Greensboro

The life force, coursing through us like water, charging our bodies like fire. Oh how necessary and vibrant you are!

Each moon, the woman's body flows blood out, the life-blood that goes unneeded. For the woman trying not to get pregnant, it's a reassurance and a nuisance. For the woman who wants a baby, it's heartbreaking--five days of bitterness, mocking her hopes and dreams. For the woman who is already pregnant, it's a jolt of panic, the worst fear.

What is the lesson? Why does it take some Mothers-to-hopefully-be months and years? What can they learn? Then there are those "more fertile" women that were not trying, or were actively preventing, that have their own lessons to learn when one day the blood doesn't show. And woe to the woman who is not regular, where her menses is a curse of not knowing, a horrible plague of 35-day periods, then months of nothing, never knowing if she's pregnant or not, in a constant state of limbo.

I only know my situation and my own lesson. As I saw the blood flow out, I wanted to cry. A whole month more before hoping, again, that there would be no blood. To learn that sometimes patience is needed, sacrifices to be made, to allow myself to build hope again, while recognizing that it will not be this time, this space. To honor the women who do not get pregnant on the first try, who spend months and years, desperately hoping to conceive. Most of all, to Honor the Mystery. Even in women shown to be fertile, with a proven husband, conception does not happen every time. Biology plays a huge part, yet it is not the entirety of the story.

I pray for a month from now to see no blood. To keep necessary blood within my womb, to support new life. So mote it be.

Imbolc Tide

On Imbolc, I became a Keeper of the Flame. We used our fireplace that night as a backdrop for a very intimate, sacred joining. It was the first time since deciding to try for another child that we did just that. Under the flame of Brigid and the fire of the hearth, we joined as one, to create life. It was wonderful.

I did not become pregnant that cycle. Since it was already a few days past ovulation, I didn't really have much hope in it, but the moment itself was significant. Life could be created instead of prevented.

When the blood showed a few weeks later, I was saddened. As unlikely as it was that conception had occurred, it still saddened me to know that we had to keep trying. I despise "trying." People say, "that's the fun part." No. No, it's not. It's a bunch of worrying, waiting, hoping not to see blood, positioning, elevating hips, and just a whole lot of uncertainty. I can have "the fun part" with or without trying for a baby.

However, I will say, there was something very magickal about that first joining. No barriers, staying in the flow, feeling through the elements: the air of knowing, the fire of passion, the water of going with the energy, the earth of the physical touch and pleasure. Then, when all combine, the Spirit of orgasm, the Spirit of joined consciousness, the Spirit of becoming One with all that is. Indeed, that was an intensely passionate and magickal night.