LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): The bumblebee seems to be aerodynamically unsound. Its body weight appears too great for its wingspan. Indeed, if it were as big as an airplane, it would never get off the ground. Fortunately, it knows nothing of the laws of physics as they apply to machines, and therefore never suffers from self-doubt as it soars and darts. I suggest you make this creature your power animal in the coming weeks. You will need to accomplish small wonders that there are no theories to account for.

There is a lot of angst involved in being pregnant. Every pregnant woman is in the same boat, dealing with a changing body and hoping that her experience is normal and healthy. No matter how many pregnancies a woman has experienced, I imagine that each time there is something new to cause worry, concern, or delight. With such a variable experience, and with so many factors beyond her control, how can anyone ever feel completely confident that she is doing a good job of taking care of herself and her unborn baby? It's worrisome.

Last night, I had my first pre-natal swimming class at the local Y. I purchased a new maternity bathing suit in preparation-- the store only had one one-piece style, and the other shopper that afternoon bought it too, so I was pretty sure all my classmates would be lined up on the edge of the pool like swollen penguins, each of us wearing the same black, white-piped suit. The thought left me feeling vulnerable and a little angry. Why do maternity clothing makers think we all want to wear the same suit? We aren't army recruits in boot camp-- do we really need to have our individuality stripped from us in order to make us feel like a team? I kind of thought the morning sickness, weight gain, and guilt about healthful eating and exercise was enough to bond us together. In any case, while I would have loved to try on that suit in red with white piping, or turquoise with white piping, I was offered only black, so that's what I bought.

The class pool had just been chlorinated, so the class was held in lane one of the competitors' pool. I walked into the noisy, steamy room in bare feet, with my orange towel tied around my swollen belly, feeling really out of place. The swim team was practicing hard-- teenagers of both sexes were slicing through the waves, swimming three to a lane under the watchful eyes of two fierce-looking coaches. One young girl was standing on the side of the pool bent over and clutching a bloody towel to her nose. Every so often the male coach would kneel down and check on her. She never looked up in response to his questions, just nodded her head and set her bloody towel waving. Poor thing. Poor me! Not so far from now, I will be the mom of a kid like this, and I'm not sure how I'll keep from suffering each hurtful episode as if it were happening to me.

Another woman joined me on the bleachers. She was older than I, with a little bit of gray in her blond hair, but she looked very familiar to me in a blousy one-piece suit with a towel wrapped tightly around her waistless middle. Even so, I didn't want to risk it and ask if she was waiting for the prenatal class. So we waited quietly together. Soon a fit fifty-year old started assembling styrofoam noodles and barbells at the edge of lane 1, then entered the pool and started jogging in place and swishing the barbells through the water. My friend and I looked at each other and decided we were in the right place together after all.

We introduced ourselves to the instructor and soon two others joined us in the pool. The chatty French mom-to-be immediately grilled us all-- Name? Due date? Number of children already in family? Occupation? Proposed names for child: a) if boy; b) if girl? Despite any surface differences, we all quickly fell into conversation, barely interrupted by the teacher's instructions for each new exercise. My sense of belonging dimmed, however, when the instructor asked me if I were pregnant, too? Because I didn't look it to her. When she found out I am nearly 5 months along, she said, well, the baby needs to grow! Thank you very much, but I have been gaining weight! My clothes don't fit! I eat all the time! The baby is kicking me in there! I can't help it that I'm tall-- maybe the baby can grow up before it grows out! Oh my god, do I look that different from everyone else? Maybe there's something wrong? Thanks, lady. And now for the newest way to fail as a woman: Failure to look pregnant enough. Geez.

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