edited July 13, 2009
I have learned a valuable lesson this past week. Something I have been saying for a long time. Something I should have understood, but never truly internalized and caught on to, to the depth of the subject. Moreover, it sounds so silly to say out loud. Nevertheless, I have been kicking this idea around for days now and it rings truer and truer every time I examine it.
I am thirty-seven years old. I am an Intuitive, an Empath, and an all-around energetic sponge and processor. Strange things affect me. If it starts to get stormy outside, I get cranky. Atmospheric changes cause changes within me. We go to the store to pick up a few things, it doesn’t take long for the variety of energies around me, from the wiring to the lighting to the people around me, to wash over me and drain me. I used to have really good shields. I used to only feel things when I would lower my shields, let things in, peek out to look around. I lack that ability any more. The ex comes over to pick up my son on the week-ends and I can tell you what sort of week-end he had, all based on what he hits me with energetically before he even enters the house. It sucks to read someone’s energy when it is nearly opposite of the stuff that flies out of his mouth all the time. I see that a lot in my life though and not only in my work either.
All of that said, you still have no clue what I am trying to get out yet. I know; I apologize. My body is alive…and it has a mind of its own. I do not mean to relate that my body is a living functioning organism with its own internal brain that causes my physical apparatus to work and move and do their thing with or without my conscious consent. I mean to say, I have a Mind, that is its own Entity, exclusive of My Self. I mean to say, my Soul is an Entity in and of itself, regardless of me as well. AND MY BODY is its very own Entity, apart and separate from My Self as well. As in, my body knows, has its own wisdom, communicates loudly and clearly, if only I calm my mind and soften my heart enough to listen to what she has to say.
Now, let me quantify a few things here. Not counting this year….I have been pregnant three times in my life. I rarely, rarely, speak of the first pregnancy. Nevertheless, I can tell you we were in the actual act of copulation when I made a mental remark about getting pregnant. Lo and behold, that IS when I got pregnant. The second pregnancy was during a time when I was involved with a coven of Stupid People. I will not call them “witches”, because ‘witch’, to me, is a term of respect for someone who has the knowledge and the wisdom of the Old Ways (or whatever ways they wish to follow—and nope, I am not a witch, nor have I ever been a witch—although I’ve studied a great deal—and my mother is most definitely a Witch, capital W). These people were all about Power, getting it, using it, abusing it. Controlling it. An example of mainstream ‘witchery’ here to make the comparison is Dumbledore (the ‘good” witch) versus He Who Shall Not Be Named (the ‘bad’ witch)—or better yet, Glenda, the Good Witch, versus Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. My second pregnancy was very specifically hidden from me, especially by my Spirit Guides, until after the six week mark. According to Waldorf pedagogy, this is when the soul incarnates into the fetus. I was returning from a trip to Kansas when my Guides hit me all over with the ‘you’re pregnant’, ‘you’re pregnant’, ‘better go buy a pregnancy test’ drama that only a cluster of five year olds could rival. I had thought they’d meant pregnant from that week-end. A trip to the doctor’s office quickly set that to rights. The time after that. I cannot recall if I knew when we were having sex. As stupid as this sounds, with my son’s father I tried to block sex, even when we were in the middle of it, as much as I could. I met him in August, 2003. I got pregnant in December, 2003. I was bored sexually by September, maybe as late as early October, when I still had hope he might be open to learning more than his normal….pattern. Yet, again, I digress. I do know, because I have it written down, that on December 7, 2003, I knew I was pregnant and that the baby had implanted. The midwife told me there is no way I could know that. Guess which one of us was right… It wasn’t her. We couldn’t take an at-home test til Christmas morning, but it showed positive then, clear as day.
I am also good about hitting due dates dead on. My daughter (pregnancy number two) is the only one I got wrong, but that’s because she didn’t come on her own. We lived in St Louis, MO, where these things are routinely scheduled. This is one reason why the next time, I used a midwife. I think my daughter would be healthier physically and mentally if I’d let her do things in her own time.
So, for the past two months, my Guides have been heckling the snot out of me. Yes, I am getting to the whole my body is alive thing…work with me. I ordered baby slings, since the only one I have left, I bought when my now eight year old was an infant. It is still serviceable, but I wanted something without the metal ring. I have ordered breast-feeding dvds, because my doula sucked last time and I am a visual learner. I couldn’t get everything I needed from books and there was no one else to ask. This is one case where just keep trying was not an option. I have been having dreams about White Elephants. We can skip the Buddha’s birth stories here; white elephants mean something specific to me.
My Guides nagged me for weeks about those dvds, waking me up at three o’clock in the morning. I had to order them before they would let me go back to sleep. I even bought pregnancy tests (two in a box) a week before I decided I might genuinely be pregnant. They are such pains, these Guides. But this sort of prep work is normal with them, and I have yet to see it fail. Sometimes the prep work comes very early; other times, not so much.
The last week of June. This year. My Guides start. ‘This is the time’, ‘this is when it’s going to happen’, blah blah blah. The day before my period starts and my Guides are all over me about this is “the” time. Yes, the boyfriend and I are careful. We utilize about three different methods in conjunction with one another. We want kids together; he wants to wait. Yes, you heard that correctly. I haven’t been so paranoid about getting my period…ever in my life. Not even when I was young and into all sorts of trouble and wildness. June 29. I was so absolutely certain THIS was the day, this was the time. It was Monday. Tuesday found me researching, lots of things, feeling almost sure the Guides were wrong again. By Wednesday, I was denying things. I maintained my denial that entire week. Tuesday, July 7, I knew. I was almost certain that I knew I was pregnant. Wednesday, I was so certain I emailed my mother to let her know I think I’m pregnant. She pointed out that they do know what causes that these days and there are cures for it. Friday, I told the boyfriend. Emotional upheaval, of course, ensued. For a variety of reasons. (We’re not married, which is an issue for and with him…he’s currently unemployed due to a lay off and not really thrilled by that prospect, since it’s been three months and he’s still looking….yada yada yada….)
The problem for me: he knew for almost a week that I thought I might be pregnant. Based mostly on my body language, apparently. Because even when I was almost certain I was pregnant, I kept sticking to my I’ve had stomach issues lately. Plus, he’s been my best friend for nine years; he’s seen me through both these last two pregnancies. I gave birth to my son in his house. He does know me all too well. He did actually have to force me to tell him; I wasn’t planning to tell him until I had actual proof, other than my own physical signs and symptoms. I wasn’t planning to say a word til after I took the test after July 23.
Here is what my body kept telling me: we’re pregnant; relax. We’re pregnant; enjoy it. We’re pregnant; treat yourself more kindly. We’re pregnant; treat yourself more carefully, more healthily (food and I have issues).
Here’s what I missed: my first yeast infection since I was married to the ex-husband. I thought it had to do with something else entirely. Tender and sore breasts right after my period rather than right before it. Not to mention the change in shape and …heft. There are things going on in there. I get very sensitive to smells while pregnant….during the first week of July, we went to lunch and the smell alone nearly made me vomit. Moodiness and snarkiness, which usually goes hand in hand with my PMS, is alive and well right now. Hot flashes, hot enough to cause sweating. Light-headedness. Usually this is from a sugar imbalance in my system, but this has been happening when I know my sugar is ok. I do try to be careful with that. My Guides have been increasing the doses of my herbal supplements lately. I thought it was because I wasn’t really feeling well. My sleep schedule has been utterly off; I have been unable to sleep nights, but camped out come morning. Thankfully, my new work automatically logs me in and I don’t sleep through the phone ringing. My stomach is hard, in places where normally it should be soft. I’ve been thinking I was putting on weight for over a week now. Now, this alone may not sound like much of anything to you, but I spent most of my teen-aged years anorexic and bulimic, so bad that I required hospitalization at times. Thirty-seven years old, almost twenty years later, and I still have to be careful. They never tell you anorexia and/or bulimia is like drug addiction or alcohol addiction—it’s a one day at a time for the rest of your life deal for some of us. When I start feeling that I am putting on weight, and I haven’t increased my eating or decreased my activity, I take notice real fast. Now, other things that have happened, my headaches stopped. The heels of my poor cracked feet are not completely healed, but there is a huge stellar difference in the way they look now versus the way they looked at the end of June. And I’ve done nothing more than ignore them for the most part, so it isn’t anything I’ve done. Technically, they should look a lot worse than they do. But no, they look stunningly better.
Up until I decided to acknowledge that yes, I am pregnant, I had this strange visceral energy that just wouldn’t quit. I am not the type to sit still even at the best of times, but this intense need for…something…was driving me bonkers. As soon as I thought, yes, I am definitely pregnant, even though I thought, maybe, at the end, this huge rush of calm and peace swarmed over me and through me. I napped that day. I nap a lot, used to nap more, but I do it still upon occasion. So, one lone nap to me is no indicator. I am frequently tired. I have been since I met my son’s father. He sucked the life right out of me and I still fight to reclaim that. And having my son was not an easy feat either. The pregnancy took so much out of me. He turns six this year and I just recently felt I could honestly say my cycles were back on even keel and my body was in decent shape again since his birth…and that’s just the recovering from his interment and birth process, not having to keep up with him, his sister, or the stupid people that were around us at the time.
I’ve had bursts of cleaning energy, which also is not untoward with me. It happens, at random. I have to fight the urges to pull what little I kept from my older two children when they were babies; I let go of almost all of it when we moved into this house. I decided to do nothing until I have proof, one way or the other.
I have definite times to eat now, whereas before I rather meandered around eating times. For some reason, between two and three in the morning is prime time for feeding, for feeding the baby. I feel as if I am being prepared for what is coming. I tend to feel like that a lot though. Not just with this situation.
Other really weird stuff? My body reacts to things, completely independent of my mind. Or at least that’s how I see it. One thing is I have noticed that really strikes me is the fact I can’t really wear my normal jeans right now. See, I was a teenager in the 80s. I was one of those girls more than willing to use baby powder and a pair of pliers to get into my jeans. This was before they started to make jeans with spandex or whatever in them. Real denim has no stretch. I am used to wearing tight pants, even if these days the material stretches. I can’t stand it, for over a week now. But when I don’t feel well, this is a semi-normal reaction. I am lucky I have several pairs of jeans that are loose enough to be really comfortable, but still look like respectable jeans too.
Coffee. I want coffee. I am not a big coffee drinker. Never really have been. But with my sleep cycle topsy-turvy lately, I want coffee; I need something to keep me awake. I cannot order coffee when we go out; I cannot make coffee at home. Every time I so much as try, I get nauseous. No caffeine allowed, according to my body.
Even weirder, I cannot sleep on my left side, which is the side I normally sleep on. When you are further along in the pregnancy, sleeping on your left side compresses arteries and veins and who knows what, and inhibits blood flow to the baby. I have to fight myself to sleep on my left side. Even if I am pregnant, sleeping on my left side now when the baby is a mere speck is not going to hurt anything. Even so, I end up sleeping on my right side, because that’s the only way I can get comfortable.
My body has been reaching out to me, engulfing me, holding me, cradling me, trying to show me the way, trying to make me understand. My boyfriend has a point with many things he says, as in this could be in my mind, a false pregnancy, based on my wanting certain things to change where he is concerned (outside of our relationship and me, and outside of his job search). I could just so want to be pregnant I am thinking I am pregnant, imagining it.
Then why does my stomach crave the attention of my hand? Not my actual stomach, but my lower abdomen? There is no soul incarnated yet, but I can feel an energy source, something seeking my energy, my hand. My body is reacting, even as my brain tries to push the logical angle. My boyfriend, also very Intuitive and Empathic, does not think I am pregnant. He thinks it’s in my mind. He does not mean it to be as bad as it sounds. He’s not being mean about things. He’s trying to rationalize and to be pragmatic. I know the baby implanted on the left side of my womb. Just as I knew my daughter was on the right. Come to think of it, my son implanted on the left as well.
I do find myself rocking, when I stand or when I sit, as I do when I have an infant. I find myself seated at the computer, researching cloth diapers, pregnancy, layette needs. It’s been so long since I have had an infant, I am actually afraid I might not have everything on hand when he arrives. I finally bought ‘Spiritual Midwifery’ by Ina May Gaskin. That book is an absolute HOOT. Now, do keep in mind that this last year, before we moved here into this house, I was contemplating moving to the Farm. The only reason I didn’t was because of my son. This is the only way I will get to see him, if I live close enough for his father to drive back and forth. (just do an internet search for ‘The Farm’ in TN—it’s the oldest known, uhm, hippy commune still in existence…from the things I have read recently, it sounds like my idea of Heaven on Earth.)
Now, you judge my brain here. When I am pregnant, I cannot stand to look at the actual photos (or even the diagrams) of babies coming through and out the birth canal. Actual birthings scare the heck out of me; the contractions with my son were so painful I could not reach beyond them, I could not reach within them, it was more than enduring, more than breathing through them—there was pain, unmitigated and unstoppable. I think there are a lot of reasons for that. ‘Spiritual Midwifery’ has been such a blessing. I swear, Ina May Gaskin wrote it for me. When I am not pregnant, the photos don’t frighten me; I don’t really care for them, but I don’t slam the book shut and hide from it for awhile. I hid from this book for long periods of time after it arrived. Labor and delivery scares me. It always has. I can deal with pain; I just don’t like to. Having a baby as a single mother? No problem. Having to deal with the hateful ex for oh eighteen years? No problem. Labor and delivery? A perfectly natural uncomplicated (usually, thank goodness) process? Problem. Big problem.
Do you know one of the most blissful things I read while I was pregnant with my son (and preparing for the home birth, which I will be doing again) was that the body will do all the work if you let it. You can pass out and the body will keep on working. When you are afraid no one will be there when you give birth and you won’t be able to handle anything at all by yourself and you’ll screw things up, forget to do things, cut the cord the wrong way, something, there is a great bit of confidence and calm in the fact that your body knows what to do…and it will do it, with or without your assistance.
We cannot take an at home pregnancy test until July 24. You may not hear much from me until this time. I run hot and cold on everything. I want to write. I start writing. Stop in mid-sentence. Find something else to do. I start to draw. I stop in mid-line and walk away. I was supposed to knit my friend a doll. Or crochet it. I had everything out. All the books, patterns marked and ready. The yarns out and sitting here, waiting. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn’t do a thing. So still, it sits and awaits my attention.
I have about five books I meander through, when the urge strikes me. I ran through my vampire and shifter books too soon recently, and unless I want to re-read things, I have to work through what I have on hand, rather than my cotton-candy mind fluff stuff. I do morning pages at random. I move towards certain goals. I am not really covering anything.
I feel pretty much on hold. I know where I am ordering the cloth diapering system I have decided is best for us. I have decided I cannot go through what baby stuff I do have here. I want to clean out my attic as well. I cannot tell you if I am having twins now, or what. I did run a few things by my son, who is in touch with worlds we know nothing of, and he says one baby and it’s a boy. He’s looking forward to meeting his baby brother. Well, I think he is more looking forward to being the Big Brother for a change, rather than the Little Brother. He even said he would change diapers! Isn’t that great? At least til it comes time for him to actually do it? Then again, with my son, he might apply that fierce concentration of his to the task and do an incredibly thorough job of it.
Until we can take the test, my body keeps telling me, there is someone in here growing inside you, someone who loves you already, someone who already knows the sound of your voice. How can I deny that? How can I deny the longing I feel from within my womb? From within my own heart?
And yet, there is the logical side, the side that doesn’t trust me or My Self at all, pondering if this is a fluke, a falsity. A desire made flesh by my mind, but with no actual physical truth behind it.
I keep reminding myself: I have never had a pregnancy ‘scare’. Every single time I thought I was pregnant, I have been pregnant. My Guides know not to mess with me about this. Teasing me about getting pregnant is one thing; telling me I am pregnant and I am not is grounds for ….. complete decimation. Someone once told me I could not deconstruct the World. They were wrong. The World is energy. Energy cannot be destroyed in and of itself, but it can be re-arranged, altered, shifted and changed, from one form to another. My Guides are aware of what I can and will do if this turns out to be a lie. They know how much I want this, even if the timing is inconvenient for my boyfriend.
My body, on the other hand, does not lie. My body has never lied to me. I have failed to listen, failed to heed her calls and attempts to communicate. I have misunderstood her, misread her. But she herself has never lied. My body is reaching out now, speaking to me, more forcibly than ever I have heard her before. She has never come across this clearly before. I am impressed by her dedication to reach me, to have me hear her and react to her intentions. She is alive, in her own right. It is only right of me to honor her for that, to treat her well, to listen…and to be at peace.
We want this. We truly want this. With all our hearts.