[Pathetic, melodramatic sigh.] After a trip to the hospital yesterday, i have been put on quasi-bed rest for at least a month. I am a mere three months pregnant, but it appears that my placenta has become slightly detached from the uterus. Abruptio Placentae is it's technical/Latin name, which makes it sound like a lightning-shaped scar seared into my placenta by Voldemort. This condition has varied outcomes, depending on the severity of the situation. It can either A) be ok, causing no harm to me or baby, or B) worsen, and potentially become life-threatening to both of us. Fabulous! This is not funny, which i hate, and i hesitate to even blog about it except that i am supposed to be pretty candid here. Plus it will explain my probable lack of bloggy material for the next month. ("Today i watched Braveheart on TNT and neglected to brush my teeth again...")
The hardest part of all this is the fact that the doctors have recommended i do not pick up my children if at all possible. Evidently carrying around a 26lb toddler and a behemoth 25lb baby is causing me and my womb stress--these are trained professionals, people: years and years of costly education to state the completely fucking obvious. Thankfully, my mother, AKA Gandhi, got a plane ticket out here the moment i told her the news, and will be here in a few days. She is nothing short of a living saint, as anyone who knows her can attest. She has just barely regained her strength in an arduous battle with advanced ovarian cancer, involving a brutal surgery and six months of chemo--and she's so worried about me that she is coming to chase my crazy offspring around using any and all her remaining energy. God bless her.
Also, thankfully i have enough help from good friends to get through the few days before she gets here. Last night our dear friends Wendee and her husband Matt had Georgia over for a coed sleepover with their son Oskar, who is five days her junior. Georgia loved it so much that she refused to come to either Dave or me this morning when they dropped her off--she clung to Matt, arms around his neck, screaming and crying. She LOVES that man. (Can't really blame her, he's a doll for sure, and wears amazing glasses, but dang! I did give birth to her...) Evidently the feeling is mutual: according to Wendee, her husband was having some serious separation anxiety on the ride back home. I think they're going in our will as legal guardians.
I was hoping that perhaps my mother-in-law would offer to fly back from her blueberry farm in Oregon for the week to help out, but seeing as i am not a circumcised African woman, an organic blueberry, an illiterate Mexican, or a cat, i think i am pretty low on her priority totem. I mean, shit, these are just her grandkids i'm being forced to neglect, right? (An actual quote from a friend: "Oh, come ON! If you were an African clitoris, she'd be there in seconds to save you!") But, to her credit, she's already been home once this week, having taken an emergency $1200 flight home to retrieve her emaciated cat from the neighbors' attic, where it had been trapped for the past month. It is a sweet cat, an awful incident, and i feel terrible for the cat, BUT...priorities. But i suppose since she is strongly against our having a fourth child (though she has five herself), her empathy level when it comes to me and this pregnancy is quite low. She even told Dave that she was convinced that i was "trying to get pregnant, so that i wouldn't have to work". Yeah, wow. HA! Talk to your son the sleep-rapist, lady.
Aaaanyhoo. Time to go lie down again. Some of this isn't half bad, so far. Arms-length child care, lots of being horizontal, but with no sex (which would normally be a bummer, but seeing as right now i have the libido of a centenarian, it's really working out well...), no housework, and "have a glass of wine and relax!!"--all doctor's orders. Done and done. Still praying for another healthy, happy Chamberlain babe...due on Valentine's day.