I'm not accustomed to my head and body acting disjointedly. Generally, my mind
identifies a goal or direction, and the faculties of my body naturally follow
through in carrying it out.
That is, until lately.
One day, I was functioning like my normal, energetic self. But the next day,
my brain had turned into putty, my will-power had evaporated, my limbs had
become utterly useless, and my general being had become suffused with a
fog-like, heavy lethargy that just won't go away.
All this is not a new experience for me. It actually is quite familiar,
though the vividness of my memory has blurred over time.
These thoughts aren't intended for those women who experience pregnancy as the height of joyous blissfulness
If past experiences are correct, these feelings will accompany me for a
number of months. Nine, in total, to be precise.
(Let me caution you right here: these thoughts aren't intended for those
women who experience pregnancy as the height of joyous blissfulness. If your
face glows perpetually as you continue to conduct your normal routine in a state
of grace and elegance, you just won't relate. Don't even bother reading on.
Rather, it's for those of us who, though excited by the prospect of motherhood,
spend these nine months in utter agony. It is for those like me, whose only glow
on their complexion is a green pallor of non-stop nausea.)
Of course, I try to focus on the beauty of the end-goal -- the euphoria of a
new life that is growing inside of me. I begin my day by filling my mind with
positive images, trying to imbue it with a sense of the wonder and miracle
forming inside my expanding body. Each morning I convince myself how wonderfully
healthy I will feel today-just as the taste of bile rises in my mouth.
What has been bothering me lately, though, is a nagging feeling that
something is wrong. At such a special time, my days should be imbued with
spirituality. My prayers ought to be heartfelt and intense, my times of Torah
study increased, my gratitude evident through the extra good deeds that I
undertake.
I should be thanking You, G-d, effusively, for this precious gift You have
bestowed upon me by granting me such a central role in the miracle of life. I
should be asking You intently for the strength to cope with my discomforts and
with the upcoming delivery. I should be seeking Your help with the challenges of
a new infant, as I pray for a healthy baby. And, I should be beseeching You for
patience and wisdom in dealing with all my other children.
Yet at a time when I need You the most, I am so utterly incapable of expressing or acting upon this connection
Instead, just getting through each day is a colossal chore. I need to muster
all of my remaining energy just to mouth the most rudimentary prayers. Focusing
intently and praying passionately is an activity well beyond my capabilities.
This is a special time for me, when I feel Your presence so intimately and
constantly within me. I feel surrounded by You and encompassed by my dependency
on You. Yet at a time when I need You the most, I am so utterly incapable of
expressing or acting upon this connection.
I notice the same situation mirrored in my relationship with my husband. I
want us to share the joy of the drama unfolding before us. I want to experience
its wonder and ecstasy together. To dream and to speculate in long shared
moments of intimate communication. But all I can usually muster is a forced
smile or a squeezed hand as I focus all of my energies on getting through my
routine, one hour at a time.
Yet, interestingly, despite this lack of open expression, despite this
decrease in our time spent together, we both feel the strength of this bond more
acutely these days. Somehow, he intuitively senses just what to say when I am
feeling sick and unattractive. Somehow, gazing into his eyes is enough to give
me a lift when I near despair.
In some strange way, though the circumstances are causing some artificial
distance, their underlying cause is bringing us even closer together.
That was what made me think about how our sages compare our current state of
galut (exile) to the difficulties experienced in pregnancy.
Galut is that time when outwardly we're feeling so distant from You, G-d.
We're spiritually uncommunicative. All of our energy is consumed in the daily
challenge of just getting through the tediousness of life and survival.
In some strange way, though the circumstances are causing some artificial distance, their underlying cause is bringing us even closer together
Not much time or energy is left over for any special closeness with You.
Spiritually, we are lethargic. Our minds and limbs are unfocused. We are
confounded by fatigue, spiritually immobile and apathetic.
Yet, somehow, despite the distance in our communication, despite the lack of
intimate spiritual expression, what is emerging from this ordeal is a deeper
connection to You. As our very selves become transformed in the pains of this
harsh process, we are also giving birth to a new spiritual self that is
intimately and essentially connected to You.
Throughout this incessantly long exile, the circumstances of spiritual
disconnection and disillusionment may be causing us to feel apart from You. But
inwardly, our bond is more potent than ever.
I just ask You, now -- with my unfocused thoughts -- to give us the strength
to get through the pains, agonies and discomforts of these gestations, so that
we can finally exult in the birth of that special time.
