musings

At the close of each yoga class, after the relaxation portion, there is a brief meditation. The teacher usually reads a short passage--prose or poetry--that's relative. It's not always specifically about pregnancy, but it's meaningful in some way. Certain readings have really struck a chord with me, and one of these is this poem.

When I heard the poem initially during the first yoga session, some of it seemed strange to me, but now, months later, I understand it better. I now understand the firmness is the unique feeling of the pregnant belly, and the softness of the rest of the body. The part I keep going back to is about not treating the pregnant as if they are disabled. I realize I have limitations, but I can carry my grocery bags, drive a car, work, cook, and clean. I recognize I need to pace myself as I tackle my day-to-day tasks, but I can do it, and I want to do it.

This is particularly difficult for other generations of women to comprehend. There was a time when a pregnant woman was entitled to a kind of pampering that does not appeal to me. I don't want to be put on a shelf for 9 months, my mind and body left to atrophy. The pampering that appeals to me are going to my yoga classes, wearing comfortable clothes, and spending time with Tony. I want to take an active role in my pregnancy, understand and accommodate my changing body, and not put my life on hold.