As my doctor wrote in the note for my employer, "Paige is experiencing a complication of pregnancy that requires bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy."
Toxemia. A wicked disease for which the only cure is delivery of a baby. In the meatime, it's Game Over. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go straight home, lay on your left side, and do not attempt any activity that will elevate your blood pressure. To-do lists, loose ends and plans be damned.
This is so not fun, but it could be worse. MUCH worse. To wit:
- I could be 26 weeks along, instead of 36 weeks.
- I could be situated in a job without flexibility, benefits, an understanding boss, and technological resources for telecommuting from home.
- I could be alone, without a loving and doting baby-daddy to cart me to my "social outings" (i.e. weekly prenatal visits) and keep me company.
- I could have had a challenging pregnancy from Day One
- I could be woefully behind in planning for Baby's arrival
- I could be in the hospital
As it stands, I am resting comfortably in my own home, enjoying the company of my beloved, surrounded by all of my own creature comforts, feeling well and taking it easy. Not bad. And, as Peegie reminded me on Tuesday, we may get to meet our kid even earlier than we thought. Again, not so bad. In fact, life is pretty good.