I like to write about ideas and concepts. I like to pick things apart. I like to over-analyze the language we use and why we use it and how that affects the way we think even if we like to imagine it doesn’t. So I’ve been having trouble writing a lot lately. Because honestly, most of the time all I can think is,
“When will it be over?”
I’ve been sick again a lot recently, and as time keeps on slippin’ slippin’ slippin’* through the second trimester, my dreams of being a badass pregnant dyke who can do whatever she wants seem farther away. Hell, my dreams of being a pregnant dyke who can manage to make dinner once a week seem a touch unreasonable. I’ve had a difficult time reconciling my image of what pregnancy, and toughness, and myself, all are with their actual reality.
But today is Imbolc. It’s the day that we celebrate the quietest and earliest stirrings of spring, the ones that happen below the surface that you can’t even see yet. And yesterday there was a big snowstorm here in Michigan, and after shoveling all of my neighbors’ yards look like snowy mountains, all blue and white and clean and distant, even though they are right here with us. You can’t see the earth under all the snow, you can’t see a single hint of the spring that is coming, and yet we know it is coming.
All of this reminds me to be kinder to myself. It reminds me that pregnancy is just like winter, it’s a slow and steady march towards spring, even if some days it feels like you’ll never get there. It reminds me to find some joy in myself as my body as it gets larger and rounder, rather than getting angry at my body for being tired or sick. And it reminds me that I will not be bedridden forever.
Someday I will be able to dance without getting nauseous again.
That’s really all I have to say. I hope you are all having a lovely day.
*when I was seven, I convinced myself I wrote this song while on the swings on the playground of my elementary school.