Being great with child(ren)
One thing I always try to keep in mind with this blog is where to draw the line with privacy. I don't show photos of my older children, don't get into personal issues, try to keep things fairly book-related. But of course the main focus of my time and life is being a mother, so I naturally tend to talk about that as well. If there's one thing that probably crosses the line into "too much information" that would be personal medical dramas. And yet I've decided for the next little while to blog daily about just that. I'm warning you because not everyone is going to be interested in my pregnancy. I know a lot of you are moms, and there's no easier conversation starter with a group of moms than sharing pregnancy and labor experiences. How delighted we are by tales of dilation, nausea and heartburn, forceps and c-sections, incompetent/brilliant medical staff, pain and epidurals and complications...what fun! But many of you are probably pretty indifferent and mostly just want to know if there will be another Bayern book. (not right now) In that case, you may want to skim the next few weeks. (and hopefully it will, in fact, be the next few weeks)
And now, friends, cozy up for Tales from Bedrest. Yes, it's official. I was getting pretty cocky last week, thinking I was going to escape the fate of many mothers-of-multiples and go my entire pregnancy without bedrest. Alas. There were developments at my last appointment (I won't go into much detail) and it has come to this. I feel very grateful to have escaped the sentence until now, when I'm 33 weeks.
I've found many people find the idea of bedrest delightful. A vacation! they think. How much reading and writing you'll get done! I'm sure many of you have been through this and can pipe up in the comments. The truth is, nothing changes in life except the fact that I'm seriously hampered from being at all useful. I still have two kids that need caring for, a house that needs caring for, and all the dozens of little things that should be done, but since I must stay lying on my side all the time, everything becomes harder. And of course you feel like crap. How my body aches! Just 24 hours of bedrest under my belt and there's not a part of me that doesn't hurt. My brain is foggy, it hurts my arms to type like this, I can't sleep at night, I'm counting contractions and praying for more time so my babies have a chance to be healthy. It's seriously lame. All I can do is get up to go to the bathroom (which occurs once an hour--my, that uterus tends to crush everything beneath its bulk).
Am I getting too complainy? Let me tell you about the little miracles. That I've made it this far. That my mom is here right now making zucchini bread. That my neighbor took my daughter this morning to play and brought her back with a loaf of homemade bread. That another neighbor is bringing us dinner tonight. My chief dread in anticipation of possible bedrest was having to ask people for help. "You're being humbled now" my neighbor said. I am. I hate it. And I'm so grateful for it.
It would be ideal to go four more weeks. One and a half would be great. I'll keep you posted. Foggy brain writes complainy blog post more easily than another draft of Midnight in Austenland. Though I'm giving that a shot too.