So when did eating become work? For someone who likes food, it's hard to imagine that eating could ever turn in to a chore. Yet in the space of a few pregnancies, the mere prospect of eating has taken on a whole new light for me.
With my first pregnancy, it was simply the dreaded morning (all-day) sickness that did it. In my naivety growing up, I did not realize that morning sickness lasted more than a few days. Imagine my shock when I was told that it should (but might not) dissipate by the end of the first trimester. I bravely forged on with my food intake for a day or two...and then it hit me. It was like a switch had been flipped overnight. I begrudgingly accepted the trimester-long sentence as night after night, my poor husband named off every item in the pantry as a prospective dinner idea while I gagged and berated him for his insensitivity to my nausea. In the back of my head, I tried to use rationale--after all, it wouldn't work to simply starve for three months straight, would it? Yet as rationale caved to misery, starvation seemed not a bad option. Somehow, between dry cereal, triscuits (which I now look at with contempt), and peppermints, I survived, and luckily even began to thrive again as I coasted in to second trimester.
The second pregnancy stepped my struggle up a notch. I vividly remember sitting at my desk the day I "got" to tell my boss that I was pregnant (again, for the second time in two years, which the Army does not look kindly upon). As supportive as he was in my emotional hour, he for some reason chose that moment in time to come talk to me armed with a pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (never mind that used to be my favorite). That day, as he gave me his pep talk and told me not to worry about others' opinions between bites of his Reese's, it was all I could do to clamp my mouth shut, hold my breath, and pray that I didn't lose my measly lunch of crackers at his feet when the sickly sweet smell of chocolate and peanut butter accosted my delicate nostrils.
So, fully knowing what to expect 'this time around', I armed myself with saltines, oyster crackers, pretzels, and every bland cereal known to mankind. Yet I was in for a rude awakening. It was not so much the nausea that had me doubled over this time (although still a contributing factor), but the sheer, ravenous hunger that gripped my stomach within a half an hour after consuming anything. It couldn't be possible...I was eating seemingly constantly despite my gag reflex. Yet by some ironic twist, after all the food I kept ingesting, I was still constantly plagued by hunger. I soon realized the cause: between growing our new little munchkin and still nursing my oldest little munchkin, my body was literally screaming (in the language of searing pangs of hunger) for more calories. By month two, I was simply tired of eating. By month four, I was literally exhausted by the mere sight of food. Never mind that I had to plan not only breakfast and lunch, but dinner every night as well, since my dear husband was off in Afghanistan dealing with his own struggles. Still, there were many nights I envied his position: Wouldn't it be wonderful to just walk into a dining facility and be handed dinner every night? Just be told what to eat? No menu planning, no cooking... Well, at least I could dream.
I now sit at the brink of the end of this pregnancy, and I honestly wonder sometimes how I've managed to feed myself enough to still be alive. Pre-pepared dinners have helped, and many a bowl of cereal has served as crisis intervention for sudden hunger pangs. Most of the time I simply cope by staring woefully at the open fridge and rifling through cabinets, finally convincing myself that I need to eat something, and hence forcing a something or other down my throat.
But the wonder has led me to a deeper contemplation as well. How have I managed to spiritually feed myself during these times of crisis? The similarity between my physical need for food and my spiritual need for
nourishment is striking, really.
I have always loved to eat; I have always loved my Faith. I went through phases of being picky about one food or another, just as I went through phases of favorite prayers or acceptance of Church teachings; in the end, though, I came to develop an appreciation for good food, as well as great Faith. Through college and beyond, despite my ups and downs trying to maintain a healthy diet in both arenas, I came out on top. At the onset of our marriage, I was about the healthiest I have ever been both physically and spiritually. I loved my natural and healthy foods, I enjoyed a good workout, my prayer life was in good order, and my husband and I were growing in our marriage daily.
Enter motherhood. Just as eating became a chore, in many ways my prayer life did as well. It became work to force myself to meditate on anything profound, let alone utter a rote prayer such as a Hail Mary or an Our Father. My husband and I still took time to pray (or say, in my case) a rosary every once in awhile, and I forced myself to tune in during Sunday mass, but I was not well nourished.
As for my spiritual life during my second pregnancy? As my physical hunger for food seemed to double, so did my need for spiritual food. Forget the stale rote prayers or even concentrating at mass--with a toddler looking for every possible avenue of escape from the pew (to include spontaneous tantrums) it became virtually impossible. Yet I craved something to fulfill me. Without my husband around to confide in or draw solace from, I spent many a day feeling desperate for any form of consolation. Just as I scoured the fridge and cabinets for something to fill my empty stomach, I surfed the internet, flipped through TV channels, and called home far more than necessary trying to feed my starving soul.
Yet it hit me recently that these shallow means of fulfillment--even if they taste alright at the time--simply cannot sustain me. Especially when my family needs me to sustain them. As nauseous or exhausted as I might feel, I still need to get dinner on the table for our resident one-year-old, and in my belly for our soon-to-be bundle of joy. It doesn't matter that I don't feel like thinking up yet another meal, or that I don't have the energy to whip up something. It is precisely due to my lack of energy that I need to eat and gain some energy. It is, in fact, those times when I feel the most begrudging toward food that I need a good meal the most!
Ditto with my spiritual nourishment. It is the times when I am most busy, most overwhelmed, and most begrudging toward prayer that I need it most. I have cried out to God many a time when I feel utterly frustrated, lonely, misunderstood, or simply weary: God, isn't there anyone? I can't deal with this alone right now! Please send someone, I just need someone...
But if I listen closely enough, it's in those moments that He responds, ever so gently, What about Me?
And if I step outside my self-pity just long enough, I'm reminded that He is truly the best nourishment I could ask for, the essence of what I really need--even if it takes extra work. A few crackers might be the easy fix to hold me over for a short while, but in the long run, only a real meal--achieved with real elbow grease--will result in fulfillment and growth. So face the kitchen I will--and hopefully teach my children to do the same!
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