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I spent the last 20 years with a pair of cats--brother and sister. They moved with me cross country at least twice, maybe more. We got them when they were kittens. They were adorable and chased each other around the apt. They slept in our bed every night. When they were too little to get in it on the 2nd night after they were little rescued by my husband from a box in a field, we picked them up and cuddled them.
When I was writing my dissertation, they would lay on my legs and lap--any flattish surface on my body. They have been my constant companions for two decades. In those years, we rescued other cats. One was abandoned by a river. It was awful. She was the kindest, sweetest girl. She died of blood cancer too soon. She was so mellow and was the boy's gf. They'd cuddle and spoon. She loved him.
Then I rescued a feral FIV+ cat. It took months to domesticate him but once he was, it was pure love all the time. He was one of the greatest loves of my life--top 3 for sure. He just radiated love and joy and kindness.
These three cats were my rocks; they quite literally anchored me through every one of life's storm. My struggles to finish my diss, my new job, my many moves. My good and bad times. There was always a cat on me when I was home, which was a lot. I had a snuggler, and all three had to be on it when I was on it. A well-named piece of furniture.
I lost my beloved little torti girl and my FIV+ boy 5 weeks apart at the end of winter. 6 months later--today--I think the last of the 3 is losing his battle with nasal cancer. I think it hurts him to eat now. All 3 in 6 months is so brutal. I can barely function. I cry every day. I miss the two so desperately and now the last one is triggering the pain of losing the others. They were part of this entire life that is now over, too. I regret every second I took them for granted, didn't spend time with them, got mad at them for just being cats, not doing more to extend their lives (though 15 for an FIV cat and 20 for normal cats is pretty good).
I have no real family, except for my husband. My cats were my best friends. I feel like my sadness is an ocean and the waves crash in on me every day. They brought me so much love and joy and happiness and friendship. When all the stupid people came and left, they stayed with me. Having to put down the last of the trio is bringing it all back up again. I haven't gone to the gym bc I am afraid I am just going to start sobbing. Last time I was there, they played the song my cat was named for and I just wept in the sauna. Yoga also makes me cry (they would climb on my back when I did yoga at home). So much that was good about my life I associate with them and it's all gone. And I have watch another die.
Not a book but a useful resource: Spinning Babies. I have no idea about their gender inclusivity or otherwise, I only know I wish I'd known about them earlier than 41+6, because doing inversions off the bed at basically 42w was pretty challenging. But I am sure those exercises saved us a hospital induction, so. Good luck.
Expecting Better, by Emily Oster. It came out at the end of my last pregnancy so I did not buy it, but I read a lot of the reviews and criticisms and came to the conclusion that she was right about most things. I had one of the best OBs who was really evidence based and didn't act like I was going to damage my baby with every bite of food or sip of drink I took. Her conclusions lined up with a lot of the guidance he gave me. He helped me understand why something could pose a risk and how to balance the risk/benefit, where a lot of the time women are just told to avoid things without adequate explanation.
I wanted to like that book, but Emily's comments on alcohol were so irresponsible. Alcohol is a teratogen-- there is no safe amount-- and she was basically saying it's okay to have a glass of wine a day at certain points of pregnancy. Our society has a serious drinking problem if we are going to prioritize blending in socially over protecting a child. I couldn't trust anything she said after that section to be honest. The whole thing read as if she was trying really hard to cherry-pick studies to support her own drinking decisions.
Milli Hill's books
I just looked her up but it doesn't seem she's a scientist or has any medical training?
oops I totally skipped over the science part, sorry about that!