Bed Rest is the Pits

I’m a huge fan of binge watching entire seasons of a show on Netflix (I’m looking at you Scandal), and basically being a sloth on the couch. But truthfully, after one or two days of this I need to do something. I need to get up, move, organize, and just get stuff done.

And herein lies the problem – I can’t. 

Just standing up sends my temperamental uterus into a bipolar fit of tightening and cramping, AKA contractions. And since this Baby Boy is better off in his temperature controlled water bed for several more weeks, I’m bedresting (it’s a word trust me).

And it’s the pits.

Granted its better than hospital bed rest because honestly do nurses really have to come in at 4 am to get my temp, pulse, and blood pressure?! Like, for realz?

But in some ways bed rest at home is more difficult.

  1. My mom is cleaning my house. Maybe I should look at this as pay back for decades of doing chores in her house, but in all seriousness it just makes me feel badly. I’m appreciative of the help, but I’m also particular (read: crazy OCD) and I don’t like seeing my mom work her butt of in my house. I guess my only saving grace here is that I’m at least paying the mortgage. #silverlining.
  2. FirefighterDad is working his butt off. My dear sweet husband – he’s a gem really. He’s working long hours, volunteering for overtime, taking classes, etc and I’m sitting my pregnant ass on the couch all.day.long. Talk about self-induced guilt trip. Also, I’m no longer bringing money into our household and having once been the breadwinner, this is tough. Like really tough ya’ll. Like boiled steak tough.
  3. I’m an organization freak. The Baby’s room isn’t done or close to being done. Diapers’ room is a disaster with toys mixed in bins, toys overtaking his room, and not to mention he’s still sleeping in the crib converted toddler bed that we need for Baby Boy. As I write this, Diapers’ big boy bed is in the garage waiting to be assembled. And I can’t do any of it. All I can do is sit hear and gently remind my fantastic husband (read: nag) that we (read: he) need to get this stuff done. Life can be so unfair and cruel at times.
  4. I dispise clutter. We have a broken/disassembled TV in Baby Boy’s room. You might be thinking no big deal it’s a TV. Well I’ll have you know it’s a 72 inch monstrosity! We also have a broken office chair and broken vacuum cleaner in the office. I’ve been kindly reminding incessantly nagging FirefighterDad to take them all to the dumpster, but here they all are, weeks later, still cluttering up my house! If I wasn’t bedresting, these would have met their demise weeks ago. Instead they haunt my dreams at night.

So the point of this whining post is that bed rest is the pits and hopefully I have several more weeks of it, my mom is awesome, FirefighterDad is awesome, and I’m gonna bitch slap the heck out of these nesting instincts.

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