The words no one ever wants to hear; “I want a divorce”, “insufficient funds”, “you’re under arrest”. For me it’s “bed rest”. I am in what they call the home stretch of my pregnancy, and this time around has been drastically different from the last two. Exhaustion, severe back pain, varicose veins, no appetite, acne, swelling, and the list goes on. Complete strangers look at me and my basketball belly and shoot me looks of sympathy. Right now I would be the perfect guest on one of those highschool sex education days where girls would either put themselves on a strict birth control plan, or remain abstinent for life.
Anywhine, with my last visit to my obstetrician I shared all of my concerns, thoughts, opinions, aches, pains, plans, as I normally do, like free therapy. He arranged for me to go for some additional testing/ultrasound to be sure I would not deliver too early, since Lil’J decided to literally slide out six weeks early and spend his first two weeks in the hospital. If everything came back fine, great! If not, he would prescribe BED REST. I would rather hear him say I was having sextuplets than put me on bed rest.
Award Winning Dad already started to plan… “my mom would stay over all day this day, your mom all day that day, another helping hand for these other four days…” and so on. As if bed rest wasn’t bad enough I would get a sitter? Lie there all day? Waiting? Marinating. I mean I would do it for my baby obviously, but I’m not going to lie I would be sad, bored, depressed, go crazy, miss my regular routine, my kids, my freedom. I quickly consulted my most trusted source of information, Google, which only made the anxiety I was feeling worse x100. Not recommended.
Finally ultrasound day arrived. I went to bed late the night before, and woke up at 2am worried and watching the clock. I was dressed, made the bed, and did some cleaning and laundry sorting until 6am when the rest of my house woke up. I was freaking out. My pits and palms were sweaty, and I was edgy beyond belief. They called me in, she explained they would do an ultrasound of the baby, and then use a camera to check out my cervix and other bits. Eeeek never had a camera down there before but all these celebrities make it seem like such a breeze. She left to get the camera.
Now I know I have a tendency to exaggerate some things, but this is NOT ONE OF THEM. She returned with “the camera”. I kid you not, a golf club covered in plastic, and her right arm in a plastic glove that went up to her elbow! Remember that anxiety that Google multiplied by 100? It was x1000 now!
Me: “YOU’RE GONNA USE THAT? I’m only five feet tall?”
Tech: “No, just the tip of it, it won’t hurt a bit.”
After a little squirm, pressure, squirm, it was over, but really it wasn’t until my OB delivered the verdict. I knew I was still nervous when I was unable to provide a urine sample while waiting for my OB, probably because my you-hoo was still traumatized by the sight of the camera that resembled a light saber. My OB reviewed the results and it turns out all is well and no bed rest. I’m just not a graceful, glowing pregnant woman, and I’m so fine with that.