Just begin.
The story continues...it has no real beginning or end, just loops and dances so you might as well get your feet wet somewhere along the river.
I am having a baby. Me. The activist, the busy-bee type A, the read-10-books-at-a-time medicine woman, the artist, the rabble rouser, the spiritual knowledge seeker. Me.
Interesting. Amazing!
Back track to the previous year. I had everything going for me, or thought I did. A budding career in naturopathic medicine, a huge holistic center, a great partner, a supportive family, true friends. And here I am, pee on my fingers and a stick that tells me I am pregnant in the washroom of the loft I settled into to deal with the mess of my fallen apart life (more on that later).
Okay, breathe.
At 6 weeks, I miscarried. I remember us hugging and crying together once we realized it was really happening. I remember looking at the little embryo that I caught as it was coming out of me. It was a strange experience. I practiced my spiritual work of non-attachment, having had the teaching about perfect lives. A fetus is conceived, born and then dies. A supreme karmic balancing experience. I felt honoured to host that for some soul to experience.
In March, after moving to a new house and starting a new job, I conceived again. This time she was consciously conceived. I felt my life was becoming more stable, even though I had no family to talk with anymore, after my personal Armageddon. I had read "The Ringing Cedars of Russia" book series and thus understood how important conceiving consciously really was. Also, I had been eating very clean food, alive and as organic as possible. I had quit coffee many months before. I felt this baby was here to stay.
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