Under House Arrest

    So the universe always seems to function with a ironic sense of humor. Case in point: Hero Hottie takes more hours at work to earn some extra money since Baby Blueberry is on the way. He's not at home as much. The month of May is the busiest month out of my entire year. Bean and Abu have a dance recital every year and it's two week of living at the dance studio- or it almost feels like it.
     The end of the school year happens in the month of May around here- field trips, events at school and special treats that need bought. On top of that we have birthdays to celebrate.
     The yard and garden are begging for attention after being ignored for six long months of cold weather. 
     This month is even busier than Christmas time. It's a whirlwind of fun and very little down time.

     And then I find out that my week long modified bed rest is going to last right into June. Perhaps July. Oh, boy. So it couldn't have happened during a quiet month. Or a month that Hero Hottie might be home. No. It has to be right smack during the busiest time of the year.
      The month of May.

     Yesterday I went to my ultrasound appointment to check on my placenta. Everything looks great. It appears to be healing, it is slowly, very slowly moving away from my cervix, and Baby Blueberry was in there kicking the entire time I was having the ultrasound. It's quite a- this momma wants to cry- moment to watch her little, tiny miraculous feet kick at the same time I'm feeling it. The nurse measured my uterus and it's growth is right where it's supposed to be- big and getting bigger. I'm definitely going to feel like a wobbly whale on feet by the end of summer.
      And I had the chance to listen to the heartbeat. Which the tech had measured the heartbeat on the ultrasound but the nurse still took out the fetal doppler and let me listen to that wonderful sound. It's such a reassuring rhythm.
      Then Dr. S came in to discuss the results of the ultrasound. I would have asked the tech, because she would know but they hate it when you put them on the spot for info that supposed to come from the doctor, so I patiently waited for my doctor to tell me.
     "Things are great but the next four weeks are critical. I can't save your baby at this point should it decide to rip more and you go into labor. So it's modified bed rest for the next month, maybe two. No lifting, no housecleaning, no picking up small children, and limited driving and shopping. I want you taking it easy and resting."
        I'm sitting on the edge of the exam table and she has taken a seat on her twirly chair in front of me, and she is actually looking up at me while she speaks. She's a bundle of energy in a tiny frame, and a reassuring smile never leaves her face as she tells me I have to rearrange my entire life for the next few months to protect my baby. She places her hands on my knees, a gesture I can tell she has purposely taken to doing to connect to her patients but one that doesn't seem too intrusive. I take a deep breath and ask her all the technical questions because that is the way my mind works. I want details. Logical, matter of fact details. And she tells them to me.
    Okay, I can handle this. The outcome is looking great; I just have to rest. The doctor stands up to take one last look at my chart. When she turns her back, I suddenly feel overwhelmed and lost. Without the reassuring smile that speaks of hope; the tears start.
    Needless to say, when she turns back around she is shocked to see my silent sobs and the tears pouring down my face. She rushes over to me, then abruptly turns around and grabs a handful of tissue. She shoves them into my hand, squeezing my hands in reassurance as she does. I wipe my eyes and wonder why I put mascara on, because it has now smeared.
    "It's right under your eye." Dr. S says gently, like a Mom would, pointing to the area on her face. I wipe it clean, giving a small laugh as she has to point out another two areas with smeared mascara. Finally, I stop my tears and she looks me straight in the eyes and tells me it's going to be okay.
     Deep breath. Breathe. Have faith. What a difficult concept right now.

     I take measured steps to the car, now mindfully aware of taking my time to walk, to move my body, to protect my baby. I have to consciously slow down my usual, in a hurry self and feel my movements. It's not completely unwelcomed. I forgot how nice it is to just walk and take one's time to enjoy the process, rather than rushing, rushing, rushing.
    I should probably enjoy it now, since when Baby Blueberry arrives I will unfortunately be back to a hectic mode of living. But it would be nice to slow that down too, especially since I didn't expect this baby and I would love to enjoy each stage, knowing just how fleeting and brief they are.
   Because it won't be long and she will be trying to keep up with her older sisters and nieces. Perhaps she needs to savor her quiet time too, since she'll be busy as soon as she's born.