As sad as I still am over losing Rose, I find myself reluctantly enjoying some of the small blessings that come with not being pregnant. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just talking myself out of trying again. You know, a kind of "See how nice it is not being fat and sick all the time?" mantra. But perhaps I'm doing the mature thing and learning, as my counsellor suggests, to take pleasure in the "now."
It's not that I hated being pregnant. Despite the barfing, having the appetite of a ravenous dog and the urge to pee every 30 seconds, I found pregnancy to be an extremely interesting and satisfying state of being. I relished my belly and my nice big breasts. I adored my jiggly bum. Feeling Rose squiggle around filled me with wonderment. Being un-pregnant, however, has its positive aspects too.
On the side of pure greed, I can gorge on spicy tuna maki, drown myself in caffeinated lattes and eat brie and smoked turkey sandwiches again. I can play a rousing game of tennis with D. I can drive from the Kink to Waterloo without having to screech to a stop at Pizza Pizza in Listowel to dart into their grimy washroom. My breathing doesn't mimic Darth Vader's when I walk up a flight of stairs and I can bend under smelly cows and lift milking machines over my head without a care. I'd forgotten about these happy things in my months of grief. It's nice to discover them again in the warmth and breezes of summer.
We haven't completely decided whether we will roll the baby dice one more time, or pursue other avenues. And so this will be a summer of small pleasures, of getting reacquainted with my body and soul. And of riding on the back of D's motorbike as much as possible.