jane from la
I am approaching the end of my pregnancy, and my little bun in the oven is growing and healthy. I am looking forward to getting out of this godforsaken bed. I am looking forward to picking up my daughter, hugging my husband while standing up, and feeling real sunlight (not to mention coloring my roots).
Wasn't that a movie? The movie of my LIFE, maybe. Eighty days. Eight-oh. In bed. Eleven-and-a-half weeks lying down. Seriously. But the good news is that when I got my ultrasound, I saw a big blob on a tiny portable machine. Beautiful. The little man is about 3 3/4 lbs.
So how is bedrest, you might ask? I'm not going to lie: It's pretty dreadful. My daughter has turned her back on me because I can't pick her up when she's crying. I've become that weird, dreadlocked lady who lives in the bedroom down the hall.
So I'm home, 77 hours post-op (but who's counting?), in bed. Mom and mom-in-law are waiting on me hand and foot and buying me fashionable loungewear. I may even get a bell.
Yesterday, my mom came to visit, armed with an iPhone full of show tunes -- and I decided to call my journey "Defying Gravity" after my most favorite tune from the "Wicked" and "Glee" soundtracks.
I've been on my back for 36 hours now -- most of that with my head lower than my feet.
I was just diagnosed with an incompetent cervix and admitted to Cedars-Sinai. It will be touch and go for the next few days and then weeks. I'm 19 weeks pregnant. It's truly a nightmare ... there's a chance I'll lose the baby.