Monday, 2 March 2015


I spend the day following my return from a visit melancholy and processing, churning over the events of the previous few days.  I lay in Mum and Dad's guest bed last night, stoutly chasing away all thoughts of how bad it must have been for this weekend to count as 'good', but following three hours' transit back to Auckland this morning there's no avoiding it.  The processing is grim.  I'll adjust by tomorrow and be back into summoning optimism and dealing with normality.

I also spend the day before a visit in a similar reflective and concerned mode.  On Friday, not long after posting that last angry/sad missive, I burst into tears during quiet reflection time at the end of my yoga class.  The others were very, very kind, but I was mortified.  I couldn't stop -- the dam had opened and there wasn't a single thing I could do.  I leaked the whole way home behind large sunglasses, sniffling and trying to unobtrusively wipe my face, as much as that's possible as a pedestrian beside a four lane road. 

This was bothersome also because yoga has been the one proactive thing that makes me feel as if I'm doing something to help my baby, myself and my stress levels.  So if it's not achieving that result, what on earth are the alternatives?  P's step-mother was so kind, a week or two ago.  She told me that there was evidence that a pregnant woman's stress levels only affect the unborn baby to the degree that she feels unsafe in her own home or relationship - other things, like grief, don't necessarily trigger concern for the child.  I want to believe that, whether or not it's true, because the belief in turn reduces my stress.  It seems that the inhabitant of my uterus is currently flopping around quietly post-lunch, apparently unperturbed by what's going on upstairs.  God, I hope that's the case.  He or she seems to get a little kicky/punchy at 4am-ish when I've rolled over onto my stomach, but otherwise has seemed very low key, up to now. 

(I've just googled pre-natal maternal stress and come across this doozy.  Oh not to worry, the effects may not last into adulthood, we're not sure yet.)

So I breathe, I focus, I work on my posture.  We will get through this, that's all I know. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Tell me your deepest secrets. Or your opinion on the Oxford comma. Or your favourite pre-dinner drink. Anything really, as long as it's not mean.