Thursday, December 14, 2006
The House of Bedrest and Sloth
I'm a stay at home mom. Me. The one with anxiety and PPD and all kinds of impatient tendencies. And now my charges include Mel, who after one emergency trip to the midwife on Thursday with contractions 3 minutes apart, followed it up with a second emergency trip on Monday with bleeding. The verdict:
She's 2 cm dilated, fully engaged, and 33 weeks pregnant. Therefore, in the great American tradition of worthless prescriptions, on full-time bedrest. This means she grows steadily weaker and more bored while I grow steadily more anxious and impatient.
Alice lounges on the airbed, smacking the television for kicks to keep the atmosphere light.
I make toxic Tang flavored magnesium supplement and chamomile tea and orange juice (for washing down the Valerian tincture) every 4 hours. I do not clean the house. Pregnant women get up to go to the bathroom and fall on the slippery floors. Occasionally, I think about paying the bills or shopping. I also wash baby sheets and clothes in anticipation of a non-breathing, non-temperature regulating, insufficiently immune bubby making its way into the world at any time. At least it would be a tax write-off.
Hopefully my efforts will keep the kid inside another 3 weeks.
However, I can't imagine Mel being happy for another three weeks. And 36 weeks really should be just fine to have a baby. Without problems. 37 would probably be better, but not if Mel starts making lists of why she hates her life or anything...
We will be there this weekend to make everything better and shiny and new. While you and I car seat shop and wrangle chitlins, my domestic wifey will get your house sparkling and new while simultaneously teaching Mel a second language and decorating the nursery in a genitally appropriate theme. She'll also write your wills.
Speaking of which, you never told me if you wanted to copy our super official ones. They're saved on the computer, all you have to do is change the names (please change the names. Please. I don't want some hospital calling me to come consent to surgery or anything).
Or she could start a blog. Or a government. Or a scrapbook of Alice. And one for Alice. Or plan out what she is going to do for every minute of the day after the baby is born. I did that, and actually followed it, to a certain point. Cleaning toilets was a scheduled activity for my maternity leave (Tuesday mornings). And I sit for hours and wonder why I'm so damned nuts...
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