Part II: Animalistic sense

My second entry this week on yesterday's theme (don't worry ladies, I'm merely writing as the Spirit moves me--I do not have a planned writing for each day of the week!) has to do with what not only I but most women I have experienced when either bearing or having been a caregiver of young.

A heightened sense of awareness surrounds us when pregnant, as if our modern selves have assimilated a past trait, dormant until released by hormones, that creates in us an almost animalistic sense of who we are, what surrounds us and how we must protect that which grows deep inside of us. Some of us develop a very acute sense of smell, while others' hearing becomes extremely sensitive. I found myself wondering, at various points throughout my 2 1/3 pregnancies, how much of this was part of evolutionary design; just as our ancient relatives had to constantly be aware, sense danger, protect themselves from nature, flora and fauna that we present-day homo sapiens likewise have an innate sense of survival unlocked while childbearing. It was, in fact, the disappearance of this heightened sensitivity that signalled for me the end of the pregnancy I miscarried; my body told me it was over before modern medicine did.

My husband could not seem to comprehend this heightened sense of smell, as he would bring the stinkiest gyro sandwiches filled with onions, peppers and garlic; or organ meats grilled to perfection by his African classmates, and then wonder why I would run from the room with my hand over my mouth.

Just protecting me and my baby.

The basic senses return to normalcy following pregnancy, only to be replaced by learning to discern need from want from the tone of a cry, to be able to spot a lost child in a crowd of people and assist appropriately, and to become more patient toward children who cannot be quiet when inopportune to be, well, noisy children! Remember how loud we thought our newborns cried? Now we hear a newborn and think their cry is so tiny and precious, while we reassure the new parents that we are not bothered and that such a sound is so incomparable to what we now live with!

Our senses have adapted and evolved with our experiences.

I was reminded of this last night, when dining with my children in a small restaurant. A young child had cried out, squealing with what I heard was delight--I never even turned to look, as I didn't want the parents to feel they were bothering me. It was a family place, not a formal adult restaurant--taking setting into account, I could choose to go to a different place had I not wanted to be bothered by children's squeals. Yet my children had other opinions. Young Prince remarked, "Gee, it sure is noisy in here. Why is it so noisy in here?" while La Princesita, trained by her Mama Llama in tolerance etiquette, merely looked at her plate and continued eating silently ("When nothing nice to say, say nothing at all."). I explained with a siloloquy of reasons of which I am certain my 4 year old understood (or rather, listened to) 25%. However I knew, without even having to turn my head to look, that these were happy sounds.

This is not a gender-defined issue, but rather a skill that we all possess, some more inclined than others, and it is our choice to learn to hone this skill or not. We sense and, consequently, we learn and grow. Sometimes that is the key to survival.