Uncategorized

I am superstitious, often to a morbid degree. I waited until well into the second trimester to announce my pregnancy. I waited to take tags off baby gifts until my mother insisted. I really didn’t want to put a nursery together…just in case. I also purchased some Frida Mom products for post natal nether region care. I left them in the bag with the receipt in the event that I had a Cesarean section. I knew a c-section was still a real possibility. So why did the events of my birth shock me so dramatically. 

Everything started exactly as I hoped. A small event on Friday evening tipped me off that something would be starting soon. Saturday, my mother, Chris and I stayed vigilant for more signs. I sat on my exercise ball and did some stretches and movements known to help baby into optimal position. Songs like “Here Comes the Sun” and “Waiting for the Sun” played in the background providing a sense that while something is coming…patience is key. We toured the Dark Crystal exhibit at the Puppet Museum and decided nothing would change until Sunday. I woke up right at 2 am on Sunday to what I knew were contractions. I worried I wouldn’t recognize them, that was a ridiculous thought. I laid in bed as long as possible, napping intermittently. They got more intense and closer together. I got up at 5 am and walked around the living room, sat on my exercise ball and timed them about 5 minutes apart. Perfect. I woke Chris up around 7:30 so we could each shower, eat breakfast, walk the dog and finish packing. Everything was great so far. By that point they very uncomfortable and I worried that sitting in the car would be difficult and figured by the time we got settled and checked in, I would still be able to walk around and keep things moving. 

Half way to the hospital I got the feeling that we left the house way to early. Chris realized he left his coffee at home and I really wanted to use that as an excuse to turn around. We didn’t and by the time we arrived at the hospital my progress came to a screeching halt. After the first few hours, I knew the docs would be impatient and start pushing me toward medication. I successfully fended off the labor accelerant, pseudo-oxytocin, but they insisted on a continuous heart rate monitor limiting my ability to walk around. I could watch the fetal heart rate and contraction chart from my room and those around me on the nurses monitor. I envied the perfect 3 and half minute apart contraction waves presented on the charts from the other rooms. My irregular waves made me feel foolish for even being checked in. The hours ticked on but I refused to let my small increments of dilation did not discourage me. I prepared for all of these scenarios. However, around midnight I opted for the accelerant and kept working. Working the positions, breath work and as much walking as I could to keep it going. However, around the 24 hour mark, things finally got consistent and intense. I was exhausted, falling asleep standing up and waking up 2 minutes later for another round. After 6 hours of that and very little progress, I took the epidural. While my hope was an unmedicated birth, this was the precise scenario in which I told myself I would accept the drug. It worked very well and I slept. They ramped up the drugs but I still stalled. Once rested, we went back to work, getting into every position possible to work the contractions. Finally, around 2 pm on Monday the docs made the call. “Let’s go get your baby,” they said. 

Just like that…after 36 hours of contractions, breath work, all the meditations, positive birth affirmations, essential oils, all the support and assistance from Chris…“Lets go get your baby” like we just had to pick him from the nursery. Before I knew it, I was on an operating table still feeling pulling and pressure in my belly and my baby was in my arms. Of course I felt relief for healthy baby and a successful procedure. Chris and I commented on the surreal feeling of finally seeing Henri in person. However, the following day I really processed my feelings towards the events. I confessed to Chris that I felt like a part of me was still in ROOM 2 working through labor. That girl is in there doing all that work and will never achieve what she trying to do. I was reminded of the 2015 Little Rock Marathon where hundreds of people were forced to abandon the course due to bad weather, some just a few miles from finishing. Also, the thousands of people who climb mount Fuji only to be turned back before reaching the summit. 

I later learned that Henri’s position in my pelvis negatively impacted his heart rate during contractions and that he likely would not have delivered easily even if I had gotten to Phase II.

My main mantra was one of acceptance from the start. I trust God and my body to deliver this baby safely. Well, God answered my prayers, so it’s on me to accept and appreciate the experience for what it was. 

I spent time during the Super New Moon to meditate on my own and with Henri. I went back to the woman who spent so much time wondering if she would ever get pregnant or have children, assuring her not to lose hope, that all the doctor visits, test and treatment would be worth it. I went back to ROOM 2 to connect that laboring woman with the present. I held Henri and wished whatever unresolved energy or struggle be finished and completed. Then I reflecting on the positive portions of what transpired starting with a new respect for Chris. I always knew he would be an amazing father. His instincts kicked in right away as he cared for our newborn and for me. My limited mobility required him to help do everything. He even helped Henri nurse for the first time because I was still hooked up to all kinds of things. I am grateful for our extended stay in the hospital and the confidence that time provided us before going off on our own as fledging parents. 

After three days we felt ready to go home. Those first few moments were made memorable because my mom put up decorations and filled the home with soft lighting, music and tons of flowers. I mean it looked like a floral shop and I loved it so much. After living in a construction zone for so long, I saw the house with fresh vision and it felt so perfect. We really had everything we wanted and worked so hard for. 

Now I am filled with appreciation for my body. I don’t judge it for its struggle to get pregnant or for its ‘failure to progress’ in natural delivery. I’m in awe of it for a successful pregnancy, for creating a big healthy baby, for nourishing him so completely with breast feeding and for its’ ability to heal after such an invasive surgery.

Resources for mental & physical recovery in the first month:

1. Belly Band: the hospital provided one for me. I wore it when I started walking around
2. The Forth Trimester: Gifted to me by an insightful friend, this book provides powerful advice on prenatal prep for post natal recovery.
3. Majka Lactation powder: has crucial vitamins for mom & baby as well as probiotics and fenugreek free lactation blend.
4. Bone Broth-high in collagen for healing
5. Silverettes-gifted by a friend who understands how to mother the mother, these fancy things protect nipples from cracking without use of creams.

I refuse to believe that I am naming this post with a Top Gun reference but there it is friends. My very mature, respectable colleagues love to make fun at my pregnant expense and when they told me I should probably start exclusively teleworking because I’m in the “DANGER ZONE,” all I could think of was taking a highway to said destination. I never cared much for Top Gun, I always preferred Hot Shots. However, I spent two summers going to Paramount Carowinds Theme park with friends and cousins almost for the sole purpose of riding the Top Gun ride over and over. They played the soundtrack to the movie on repeat as we sweated it out with hordes of other teens to enjoy one of the newest attractions in the Carolinas. Mostly, our trips to the park were a side shoot from our Fireworks runs across the border.

I think about those completely carefree summers with such fondness and smidge of resentment. I miss those kids but am annoyed by how blissfully unaware they were during those endless summers. Now, we enter into parenthood. Those carefree kids’ are someone else and their actions will surely cause us nothing but worry and anxiety. For example, those kids better be driving safely and not tormenting the police as they attempt to sneak illegal fireworks back into the state of North Carolina.

My responsibilities as an officer and a pilot grew beyond anything that kid could ever comprehend. Responsible for an aircraft, the lives of people on the aircraft, the personal and professional growth of individuals looking to me for advice, guidance and generally to keep them out of trouble. Now adding a new layer of parenthood to that responsibility is daunting. I am theoretically days away from giving birth and still don’t know what that responsibility will feel like or what’s about to happen. I am at the highest point of that roller-coaster waiting for the brakes to release.

I am a prepper. Not a doomsday prepper but I like to feel in control, I research and make lists. In my last week, I’ve taken the advice of many people on how to “prep for baby”

1. Pack a bag

2. Make freezer meals

3. Have post-partum recovery supplies

4. Write a birth plan

5. Sit on an exercise ball

6. Eat healthy

7. Walk

8. Meditate

9. Listen to Positive Birth Stories

10. Get as much rest as possible

People are asking if we are ready. Some people simply mean to inquire if the baby has clean sheets on a bassinet. Others ask with an intense stare in the eyes because they know what we don’t about those first few weeks with a newborn. We respond with a number of things, usually “ready as we’ll ever be.” However what I really want to express is that we wanted this, we asked for it. It took us so long to get to this point, we feel more like “finally.” We are ready to feel unprepared, overwhelmed, in over our heads and out of our league. We’re ready to let a babe ruin our plans and our linens. Maybe when I’m in labor I’ll say otherwise, but we aren’t taking anything for granted and our grateful for this whole process.

Luckily, I feel great. I keep moving and keep trying to stay positive. Last night I had what may have been a contraction and I thought, ‘not now, I am tired, and a little scared.’ However, this morning after completing this flow, I am feeling confident and strong again. An infinite number of women complete this journey, surely mine will be no more or less difficult than anyone else’s. I will stay positive but mostly patient. I may be on a highway to the danger zone but I am in no rush to get off.

For anyone who suffered more significant loss, either while pregnant, during this pandemic or at any time in their lives, I realize that this may seem dramatic and paltry in comparison. 

However, anyone who has ever lost a dog knows that saying ‘my dog died’ somehow diminishes the experience. Even just referring to Hella as a dog, fails to accurately describe her. She somehow possessed mythical qualities. Body of a large cat, head of a cow with a face of a gorilla…known as a Munka. Munka short for Hunka Munka. She was a lover girl of epic proportions who craved adoration and felt a walk wasn’t for her benefit but so that she could greet her public. If outside announcing her presence to the neighborhood, she’d responded only to ‘yoohoo princess,’ a gentle calling one might use to delicately address a pain-in-the ass brat too smart to come when called in case she was in trouble. 

Don’t misunderstand, she respected the pecking order and that I was boss. It took her a little longer to recognize Chris as an authority figure. If she ever did, perhaps she simply won him over as an endless source for face rubs and attention. She wouldn’t just ignore him if he asked her to get off the bed but would talk back, barking at him playfully until his tone turned from anger or frustration to laughing and jovial. 

I was proud that our intense bond never limited her independence or ability to enjoy other people’s company. She accepted staying home alone during long flying days exceptionally well and fully enjoyed staying at friends houses for weekends if I went away on work. She accepted changes and military moves better than I ever could. Moving in with Chris meant not just the end of her sleeping in the bed but the introduction of a new puppy, also more of a chicken crossed with a goat, than a dog. She moved from tolerating him to enjoying him to loving him, but never stoped teasing him for being smaller and sillier. 

Her physical journey through life was less gentle than her demeanor. We got her shortly before getting married in 2010 and she immediately contracted Parvo virus as a 5 week old puppy, lost half her body weight and was only one of 3 dogs at the hospital to survive. The vet honestly attributed our regular visits to her as the extra encouragement she needed to push through. This testament to loving attention as her life blood became even more apparent throughout her life. After a terribly invasive knee replacement while Chris and I were deployed to Afghanistan, my mother devoted ample time to her physical therapy and I am convinced this amount of attention not only aided her total recovery but also maybe encouraged her to go ahead and get her other knee replaced as well. This time she spent a week getting hydrotherapy and electrotherapy from a fancy Japanese surgeon. She acted as though she’d been at spa rather than a hospital. Her final and most gruesome surgery required a massive face lift to remove half of her lower mandible overtaken by a tumor. The Japanese vet requested she stay for a week but recanted after two days saying in his best translation that ‘it would be best for her personality’ since she only seemed to eat after Chris or I visited her. This time she needed our special blend of affection or maybe our special blend of 80% fat premium ground beef breakfast supply. Her maintenance level with half a bottom jaw increased significantly in that last year and half but she gave as much love back as she required in extra meal prep, and face wiping. Of course her absence creates a void, but there is more to her loss than that. 

She got to meet my first true love, a 14 year old pug named Napoleon. His name accurately depicts his dominating role in my life from age 10 to 24. What a journey of growth over my lifetime that dog supported. When they met, Hella was almost the same size as the blind nearly deaf old man and she approached him with grace and a smidge of reverence. They overlapped for almost 2 weeks before he passed away and that small link brought a huge comfort. The loss of that link to him and my childhood adds another level of nostalgia to her passing. 

While mom and I mourned Napoleon, I looked at Hella and said ‘what’s the point? You’re just going to get old and die on me too.’ In truth she did neither. She bounced around, barked, played, didn’t grey or get old lady looking. She never soured or acted crotchety. She stayed youthful, sweet and personable even at 10 and half. She did get sick, her body started give way. Maybe her heart, maybe some unseen cancer, it was fast and consuming. She didn’t die on me. She simply asked to go. Gently she warned me and after 2 days she asked to go. Lastly, as what I am sure was a familiar feeling of anesthesia taking over,  she lifted her head to turn and kiss me goodbye in thanks for release and what was a great life together.

I fear what the sadness feels like for my unborn baby and tried to meditate a protective and loving bubble around him to spare him the feeling of loss and longing. However, the grief persists and I know it effects him. For awhile it felt difficult to get excited about the birth because of it. When I look at pictures of Hella and I together I see the problem. I might as well be sucking my thumb like child. She was my security blanket. She made me feel safe while living alone, comforted on deployment knowing she was with Chris or my mother, and she was my source of consistency for the past decade. One strictly loving entity who was always there. I don’t know my adult self without her. Starting a new chapter as a mother feels like starting a whole new book if she’s not a main character. I am accepting the challenge and instead trying to remember the confidence she gave me and realize that before I her, Chris was there, and my family was there. I find comfort and immense gratitude for their continued health, wellness and support. Chris and I also live together and we have an awesome security system with lots of cameras.

I always rebelled against my Catholic teaching that dogs can’t go to heaven because they don’t possess a soul. I also don’t think I accept the idea that we meet them again on ‘rainbow bridge’ comforting as that might be. I feel like her spirit may have joined the collective consciousness of nature and might not be that unique being who can visit you or protect you as a human soul could. Either way, one thing I know for certain is that she will live eternally in my memories and the indelible love she left in our lives. 

Check out below for a slow restorative flow which helped me let go of some of the sadness, sit with the joy my girl brought me and feel more connected by growing bebe. Movements like this and long quiet meditations focused on memories of our life together from beginning to end brought physical and emotional release. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feVaUSI9pl4

We conceived on Christmas Day, found out I was pregnant on Epiphany and my due date is September 11th. Since Japan is a day ahead, I recognize September 10th in the US as my official due date. Knowing that the average first time birth goes over by 10 days, who really cares?

These dates aside, I also realized that the timing coincided with Chris separating from active duty to transition to the Reserves, starting a job with United and moving to the US. Additionally, I would be moving a few months after him. Settling into a new job and new house and starting a renovation project. All these things seemed like a daunting, terrible time to be pregnant. Then the unexpected, the timing started to work out surprisingly well.
I got the results of my first round of blood tests stating the baby’s gender perfectly in time to plan a gender reveal with my family. While on our cross country drive from Seattle to Atlants, Mom and I stoped to visit my sister. This happened at the exact time my father was coming to visit her. A trip he’d planned months in advance. Magically, Chris had a stopover in Denver on one of his United trips. So just by divine timing, from all corners of the earth, my whole family would be in the same city for one night. A night just two days before my father’s birthday no less.

My sister and I planned a surprise birthday dinner for my father complete with a cake. The traditional celebratory birthday dessert would also act as a surprise gender reveal based on blue or pink icing. Only my sister and I knew the icing secret and neither of us knew the gender. We placed the order for the cake 48 hours in advance and I nervously waited for the dinner. I also anxiously considered the possibility that the bakery may confuse the results. The person who took my order obviously enjoyed their cannabis freedom afforded by Colorado and seemed a little confused by the request.

The night before our dinner I barely slept. Not uncommon for me since about 10 weeks into his pregnancy. When I did sleep, I dreamed vividly. Normal dinner with family followed by the cake cutting. Surprise! Blue icing lined in the interior of the cake and we celebrated the news as a family. I woke up. Finally, the day had arrived but since my dream, all my anxiety transitioned to a quiet excitement. This would also be the first time Chris and I saw each other in two months, and that emotion sort of dominated my thoughts.

There we sat, my entire immediate family together for the first time in 3 years. Brought together by random good timing, over one of our birthdays and just after the gender results were handed to me in a sealed envelope. Dinner was incredible. My brother in law knows all the best spots in Denver and staff was so cool to let us bring in our own cake and to serve it to us. We sang to my father and just before cutting into it let my parents know there was something special inside. It all unfolded just as my dream showed, this time, not so surprisingly, blue icing between delectable layers of cake confirmed my intuition. It’s a boy. I’d also seen a lot of brilliant blue’s during meditations over the previous few weeks. So I think deep down I believed it was a boy.

Then on the summer solstice and beginning of my third trimester and was struck by the divine timing of this entire adventure. I spent many moments over the past couple of years feeling disheartened, confused and doubtful about my chances of ever getting pregnant even with medical interventions. The convenient timing we tried so eagerly to plan around lost importance. The closer we got to moving back to the US, the timing of a pregnancy appeared to get desperately inconvenient. However, our mutual surrender to divine timing allowed us to trust the process and build an attitude of confidence that we could figure everything out when the time comes. In addition to these happy coincidences, a slip in timing of the next crop of aircraft means that things should be fairly slow at work until just after I start flying again.

I’ve learned that when hard work and expert advice seem to fail, trust, hope and acceptance build a channel for divine timing to work and for pieces to fall in place. Hopefully, I can carry that attitude through delivery and parenthood.

According to ancient vedic texts, pregnancy puts you in a state of pitta dominance. This explains physical changes such as increased body temperature and heart burn as well as increased emotional upsets. Pitta makes us desperate to to gain control and lends to frustration when we fail. Try this gentle, cooling flow feels counter productive but provides balancing relief for all that built up heat…especially in the middle of a pregnant summer.

I felt pretty capable prepping to move (see my moving day musings) but that post made it look like I did everything alone. The truth is, without the incredible generosity of so many close friends, my ability to make this mission happen would have stalled on the tracks like the Hachi on its’ first trip out. First, that trip to drop the car off for export required an additional player to come along behind me to drive me back. She did this even with an out of town guest in tow. (Huge thank you to her.) Her husband also stayed on call to help me with anything too high up or heavy to move in my delicate condition. (Many thanks to him.) As the video showed in my moving day post, without the collective squadron family hoisting the deck away, my house would never pass the exit inspection. 

Then, with reports out about China about a new Corona virus popping up in Japan and Korea, I started to get a little concerned. My final three weeks in Japan were spent managing the Crisis Action Team and preparing the base for a Public Health Emergency. A week before departure, US Air Force Bases in South Korea closed down travel into and out of the country. I feared that Japanese bases would follow suit if additional cases popped up. At this point the US felt like the safest place for myself and my little embryo. The only real danger appeared to be in Seattle, at airports and in nursing homes. 

Luckily, one of the members of the Crisis Action Team prides himself on being a bit of a doomsday prepper and provided a coveted N95 mask, charcoal mask, hand sanitizer and pair of gloves for my journey through SEATAC. Big thank you to him! Armed with my supplies I felt ready wallow in the contagion with the masses.

Getting checked into the airport on base took two days. Two days of carting my 100lb dog and her giant airline crate along with my 30lb dog and his crate to the terminal to get checked in and weighed. Tiny Japanese cars and a single person would require no less than three trips carrying the dogs and their accoutrements. Luckily, friends are more like family at Yokota and my dear friend showed up with barely a moments notice to help me assemble crates and transport animals. (Huge thank you to her!) The process was a little sketchy. They never printed a bar code or boarding pass or so much as gave me a sticker to put on the crates. So the next day when they told me just to leave the dogs in their crates off to the side of the main lobby, I was certain they would be forgotten. 

Another friend offered to stay in the lobby until he saw the dogs get loaded and sent me a text message once he confirmed their status on the flight. (Huge thank you to him). Now, masked and relieved, I relaxed in my seat and practiced some 3 part breathing. I said a prayer of gratitude for the friends and great times the assignment provided me and set sights on the next task. 

Next task, new assistant. My aforementioned 100 lb dog is too heavy for commercial airlines and my 30 lb dog’s smushed faced puts him on the breed ban for flights. So the only remaining option required driving from Seattle Airport to Atlanta in a rental big enough for all my friends or at least all my most prized possessions. Chris lucked out with a busy flying schedule so my mother agreed to help me with the drive.

After immigration and customs with the dogs, find Mom, pick up rental mini-van, break down crate and load up for the drive. She met me with a sweet friend of her own who’d agreed to help by letting Mom stay with her for a few days prior to my arrival. Mom’s friend picked up her own mother from the nursing home and we all went to lunch for sushi. (Of course the only thing a pregnant woman wants after arriving from Japan). About four days later we realized that my coming from Japan, three of us coming from SEATAC airport and going to lunch with an older woman from a nursing home was about the worst thing we could have done. Don’t judge hindsight is 20/20.  

Looking back, although we experienced beautiful weather, easy traffic and little drama, it sort of felt like ascending the river in Heart of Darkness. Each stop revealed worse news about the virus, increased paranoia and decreased products in stores. The jet lag made the drive grueling and somehow both my mother and I came down with some sort of cold…surely not THE virus. 

By the time we arrived in Atlanta, my husband got home from a trip with United and readily took care of us…from a distance. He brought us food, took care of the dogs and set us up with extra cleaning supplies. In the 4 weeks of quarantine that followed, more friends dropped off groceries and loaned us furniture or kitchen wares since we had 1 bed and one pan in the house. 

The importance of building a tribe regularly comes up as advice for pregnant women and new mothers. In general I try not to burden others with my problems, either with emotional or literal baggage. Never pack a bag you cannot handle yourself. However, this adventure forced me to open up and ask for assistance. To my pleasant surprise everyone stepped up and work with me to help get this show on the road. I hope to remember this lesson when it’s time to go back to work and my husband deploys a few months after the babe is born. 

In addition to thanking all the people who had my back, I want to point out that back pain presents one of the most common complaint during pregnancy. Have your own back by strengthening your hip stability in this prenatal flow. 

Falling pregnant and entering a delicate condition, I accept the lapse in flying training. However, out of dedication to my next job, I felt determined to complete any and all other training requirements associated with staying ‘mission ready.’ Ground training includes a plethora of online training events relating to everything from protecting information to human trafficking awareness. Easy…even in my delicate condition. I can risk the carpel tunnel of hours of clicking through slides. Aside from online training, there are also a number of in person classes. Again, sit in a class and discuss visual illusions and nuances of flying under night vision goggles…most of these I’m authorized to teach. Classroom setting, no biggie. However, a few refresher courses present a more hands on approach and only come around every three years.

Combat survival and Conduct After Capture refresher courses for example provide a little more intensity than your average power point show. On the first day we conduct a series of unarmed combat techniques on dummies and on each other. The second day is survival, simulating crash landing in enemy territory. From my memory, the training involves a fun hike through the woods, some face paint and maybe a little low crawling. Mostly, I remember sitting around board in the woods. My due date for the course was a month away and if I waited, my next unit would have to figure out how to schedule the class a year later. (See my post on coming clean to my tiny unit (hehe) and the inevitable strain I was about to cause them.) If I knocked it out now, I could spare them the slight inconvenience and potential week long delay to my already 9 months of ‘Not Mission Ready’ status.

My military discipline and determination set in and I signed up for the course. Day of the unarmed combat…it all came back to me. The throws and rolls and near choke outs…um OOPS! Soo…teach, I am on a physical restriction from the Doctor. I can’t even express how I cringe to use a Doctor’s note to get out of physical training, the ultimate wimp card in the military! I managed to keep it low key and feel ok about the things I skipped. Day 2, ‘crash land’…ohhh I remember now. It’s actually 35 degrees and raining…just like last time…how did I forget that?! The slow paced hike actually includes scrambling and full out climbing terrain changes, unstable footing with some butt sliding down the hills and significantly more strenuous work than my less delicate self would ever consider ‘strenuous.’ Too late, I’m in the shit now. Convinced that if I take it slow and persuade the group to be mindful of our course then I’ll be fine. Six weeks pregnant, my paranoia reached an all-time high. So too was my resistance to ‘be that girl’ who cannot keep up on a very simple hike. This phobia from a decade of conditioning persists despite the fact that everyone in the class recognizes me as one of the healthiest and most active people in the group. Still, my mental battle raged on. Every time we crossed the road I though about ditching the group and surrendering. I would still get credit and would definitely be safe. Somehow though, I carried on. I’ll be fine, this is not that hard. My heart rate isn’t even at 80%. Don’t fall. Sit and scoot across the log, down the hill. Keep warm. Keep dry. Something in early pregnancy about not letting your feet get too cold?? I managed to go the whole route without incident…until the final descent to the meet up point. Barely a butt slide but an unplanned one and enough to worry me. We made it to meet up site about 30 minutes before our meet up time. Now, I am in my element. Lay down under a tree, out of site of the ‘enemy’ but for this yogi…forest bathing. Root down into the earth, trust myself, trust my body, meditate on the life inside my womb and let us both fully connect to the earth. We did it, we are fine. 

I respect that getting pregnant and staying pregnant requires a little more precise timing than our high school biology class suggests. However, our bodies have the innate intelligence to protect itself and the growing life force inside us. We cannot jiggle our embryo loose and induce a miscarriage as easily as we all think. Often people want to find a reason for someone else’s pregnancy struggles and end up blaming the mother. I believe this comes from an attempt to rationalize why it wouldn’t happen to them. This is a bias I choose to recognize and avoid. I blame no mother for the loss of their pregnancy or inability to conceive. I trust divine timing and the incredible complexity of life to accept that I am not at fault for the difficulty it took me to get pregnant, nor would I be at fault for a tragedy that befell my pregnancy. I live in awe of the human body and recognize this an opportunity to connect with my body and that of the life growing in me. I feared making that connection early on in case something happened and I lost it. This particular training event changed my thinking. I decided even if this does not go full term, I will take advantage of this unique time in my life and connect.

Any trimester meditations to relieve anxiety and connect with baby.

Or try my vata grounding flow if you haven’t tried this one yet.

I like this one for a shorter sequence.

According to the Chinese Zodiac, 2020 represents the year of the metal rat. The rat signifies prosperity, wealth and surplus. The metal element signifies stability and reliability. The metal rat combined can suggest stockpiling or hoarding but also the ability to turn unlucky events into fortune. So far 2020 seems anything but profitable, stable or lucky. With nearly 42 million people out of work and a recession, the only element that appears to line up is an insatiable need to stockpile toilet paper and cleaning supplies. Now, just as the season changes from a cool, quiet spring, the country is heating up with intense protests and demands for justice and racial equality. 

This sentiment surrounding George Floyd’s and too many other senseless deaths far outweigh fears surrounding the pandemic. Despite the constant, terrifying news reports regarding the dangers of the disease, people actively chose to support the Black Lives Matter movement and demand justice. As a white woman I recognize the importance of our voices to express our outrage but am also so afraid of saying the wrong thing or be taken the wrong way. I’ve spent the past week trying to learn about the most appropriate way to show support. 

The last year of the Metal Rat was 1960. So much progress in the last 60 years. So much to be proud of. However, somewhere along the line, progress towards racial equality stagnated. It reached a comfortable level for white society to feel they could drop the issue. I’ve heard whites of the Baby Boomer generation use examples of successful immigrant populations in the face of prejudice as an example of what they felt black communities should be able to do. While Asian, Hispanic, Italian, Irish etc immigrants faced adversity and society shunned them. I think its an unfair comparison because black Americans were already Americans and therefore should not be burdened to prove themselves. They also faced generations of racism. Despite how well educated or how successful they became, they could never change the perception of racists. I can only image that the mentality of an immigrant, determined to make a place for themselves in a country they chose to move to is completely different that a that of a born American who learns from a young age that their skin color will always prevent them from being fully accepted, appreciated or respected. 

I grew up fairly sheltered and was taught that I can be anything I want to be and that no one should judge another by the color of their skin. I believed sexism and racism were issues that had been defeated in America. It was very painful for me to learn that sexism is very real, very present and largely impactful on society. It is devastating to realize that I have been personally blind and deaf to the prevalent racial inequalities which pervade every aspect of society from education, to banking, to medical treatment to police brutality. I have been comfortable because I don’t see or hear blatant racism. I wanted to believe things were better and was unable to open my eyes to the realities. I remember being outraged by Rodney King and thinking that was a major turning point in society. The truth that very little has changed since his brutal murder is unacceptable. Our grand-parents knew that educating people away from racism would take generations but now the progress has stalled. I believe that America is no longer plagued by racism in the same way it was 60 years ago, but have allowed our deeply ingrained racial biases to remain. Our society is set up to allow racial inequality to continue. 

It is not enough that we I don’t judge people by the color of their skin, I have to be anti-racist. We have to be anti-racist. We have to look for ways to push equality, change the system and close the gap. I am still trying to learn how we got to this point and how we can be better activists and the most effective ways to improve society. I am open to discussion and to trying to see a new viewpoint. Of course I am afraid of saying the wrong thing and offending people but I willing to keep learning to get it right. I have hope that in the spirit of the metal rat, we as a nation are able to make a positive change out of these horrific events. 

I’ve read many articles about ‘how to support the Black Lives Matter movement.’ Most suggest talking to friends, watching documentaries and donating to families recently affected by police brutality. I think more impactful actions include supporting Federal Reforms in response to police violence and seeking ways to support your local black population. Join diversity committees to learn more about actions that can be taken locally and federally. 

As a student of all things prenatal. I found this podcast very informative. https://www.natalstories.com/listen

This author is from a town close to my home town and opened my eyes to a different experience. It also made me a more confident yoga instructor since it shows how we are all individuals. Not all yoga instructors look like Cali girls. She also offers free yoga classes on youtube.