I went to my prenatal yoga class last night. I have to drag myself there most weeks. I’m tired and there’s chaos abound at home at that time of night – kids needing baths and cuddles and dinners and a couch or bed begging to be laid upon – and a body begging the same. Once I walk in the door though, I’m happy. I have been attending the same clinic/studio for six years now – pregnant and not pregnant. It feels like home.
At the start of our class we do a whip around the room and everyone tells the group how many weeks they are and how they are feeling. During my first pregnancy it was my favourite part of the class. Hearing the stories of other women and relating to how they were feeling. Sharing remedies and ideas on how to get comfortable in bed at night, or what to do when you wake at 3am and your partner doesn’t want to make you a sandwich. How to last the long days at full time work. Now on my third pregnancy, I catch myself rolling my eyes and willing these girls to hurry along so I can get into stretching my aching body before this precious weekly me-time is up and I head home to washing, toys and usually cranky kids who are kicking the walls, jumping on beds and still not asleep because they have just one more very important question to ask that they absolutely must get the answer to before they can possibly contemplate even the mere idea of sleep. It comes to my turn: “I’m almost 30 weeks and feeling great!” Next!
I went home last night feeling a bit guilty at my inner monologue towards these innocent first time preggy ladies, wishing I could recapture those first pregnancy moments – the quiet magic of it all. Getting home after a long day and having no one to worry about but yourself. Finishing up at work and being able to have a nap whenever you want and watch videos to your heart’s content while you wait impatiently for your baby to make an appearance. Pacing around the quiet, empty house touching and smelling new baby clothes and wondering how on earth a baby could possibly be so tiny. I remember those long days at home, and having to build a new life during the working week. I remember what it was like and know that I too once felt the need to go into great detail with the group about my left hip that had been niggling me a little while I watched Home and Away each evening after work.
So I resolve this week to learn from those mamas, to remind myself to pay attention to the beauty in these moments, and to be intentional about recreating that quiet first time baby magic. This baby might be number three in line, but I think he/she deserves it too. And perhaps this is just a memorandum of what is to come for them… etching out their space in this big boisterous family.