I've joked with a couple of people over the last two weeks that men would be much better at bedrest than women. They tend to take it easier in general so being "forced" to lie around on the couch wouldn't be so far from what they like to do anyway.
Haha.
The reality is, this is hard. It's depressing. It's only been two weeks. I know I'm lucky across the board here. We caught things in time and avoided full-blown labor at 32 weeks. The longest I could be on bedrest is another three weeks, five in total. I'm already 34 weeks and if I go back into labor now, we've managed to avoid the really bad statistics and the worst of the possible preemie issues.
But it's still getting to me. I have no idea what's going on in my house. I haven't seen the insides of our fridge since the night before I had the contractions. The majority of our Christmas decorations are still up. I don't know if we've got more toilet paper in the basement or not. My mother is here on the weekdays to help and clean and cook. She's put her own life on hold to manage mine. She's the reason why a portion of our Christmas stuff has been put away. She bought more toilet paper. She cleaned out the old food in the fridge. She's doing double time everything. I hate that I need that help. I hate that when she asks me where something is, I now have to say I have no idea.
I had Niclas go to IKEA yesterday to pick up the remaining stuff we need to finish the new kid's room. He managed to get some of it but not all (Why? Why is it impossible to get everything on your list in one trip to that place? Maddening). He showed me his purchases last night, including a rug and drawer pulls. I had to fight the urge to go upstairs and set things up. I can't even see the drawer pulls in place, assuming he gets around to putting them on the dresser today, until I go upstairs to bed tonight. I spent a lot of time in the first and second trimesters getting the new kid's room together as much I could. It's still not finished. At this stage, I need to accept that it's not going to get finished. That is hard for me.
I can't finish packing my hospital bag. I can't get myself a bottle of water. I can't pick Matilda up. She hardly ever asks me anymore. She didn't want to get in the shower with me this morning because she knew I would not pick her up and hold her in the stream. She choose to wait and get in the shower with Niclas.
Lying all day is uncomfortable. My backside hurts. I'm getting towards the end of pregnancy so I'm big and unwieldy and prone to getting stuck if I roll onto my back anyway, but I spend my days lying down or at least propped up. Moving requires more effort that I care to admit. Getting up to go to the bathroom is slow and calculated and I hate feeling the weight of myself. I'm going to end up heavier at the end of this pregnancy than I was with Matilda. I was lighter at the start of this one than I was with her. I'm not going to be able to walk around the block, nevermind join my running club for 8 miles on a Saturday. I am, quite literally, a human incubator and nothing else.
I'm not a superstitious person. I'll walk under ladders or step on sidewalk cracks or do nothing more than shrug if I break a mirror, but I'm hesitant to admit that I just don't like being pregnant this time around. I didn't mind it with Matilda. It was all new and exciting and I had time to read weekly pregnancy growth charts. I had time to sleep. But this pregnancy has just been kicking me in the face from the start. I felt like I had the flu for weeks. I never had a second-wind or a rush of energy in the second trimester. I've just felt run-down from about week seven. I've bitched a lot about pregnancy this time around. I am looking forward to the day when I'm not pregnant anymore. There is not one inch of me that wants that day to come before at least January 27th, but I am looking forward to the end and my recovery like a kid looks forward to Christmas morning.
Which, speaking of, is something I didn't get to see this year. I did not see Matilda on Christmas. It was my choice as I didn't want to drag the poor kid into a hospital on Christmas. She spent the day and night at my parent's house. She had a great time and I am glad, but I'm sad for myself. This was the first year where she got the concept at all and I didn't get to see the culmination of it.
She's out with Niclas right now, running around Target or going to the museum. The weather is Spring-like and lovely (which does not bode well for the future of humanity). I am lying on the couch like Jabba the Hut. I am sick of myself.
