I did not anticipate celebrating the one month mark until the due date by missing church and staying in bed. I have been blessed with a wonderfully healthy life, and, despite some rough days of morning sickness at the start of the pregnancy, bearing my first child has been a wonderful, active experience. So when the nurse came out with my chart and said the words “bed rest”, it was foreign language to me. (I was so caught off guard that when I got home I had to call back in to find out the translation: exactly what my doctor wanted that to look like for me.) Thankfully at this point it seems to be more of a precautionary measure until my bloodwork results come back, which is good but also makes it hard for me to take bed rest seriously. I jokingly told Peter that I wish I had a broken leg or something tangible to force me to put my feet up. And then I looked down at the little limb visibly jabbing out near my ribs and wondered how much more tangible it can be. I’m close to the finish line and it’s still my job to take care of my baby, which means taking care of myself at the same time. So bed rest it is.
In the meantime, I try hard to ignore the little mess of items in the crib that I had intended to organize after I got back from my appointment Friday, or nice dinners I had planned to make. Nesting now means a lot less cleaning and a lot more sitting on the branches I’ve gathered and remain scattered around. Several books and crochet projects keep me company, my husband takes excellent care of me, my little girl has fun playing peek-a-boo with my ribs, and I’m trying hard to ignore Dr. Google.
This is my life for several days. Maybe the order will be rescinded on Tuesday. Maybe I’ll have to keep it up. Maybe my girl will make an arrival in early September, maybe she’ll be stubborn and wait until early October. All I know is that it is a wonderful thing that our lives are not in my hands, but in hands much mightier than mine.