Yesterday was my first day of bed rest. And because I’m sitting around fairly bored, you will receive a mini report from me on each day. I’ll keep it brief. Honestly, this is mostly just to give me something to do.
Day One Observations:
Bed rest is not glamorous. If you read my last post, you may remember that my mom was on bed rest for her pregnancies. My mom and dad were always very open about the difficulties they had with pregnancy and childbirth, so I knew my mom was on bed rest ever since I was little. I always had a vision of what this looked like.
Picture it. Manhattan, 1969. My mother is young, glowing, and excited about her pregnancy. She and my dad lost their first to miscarriage, and are worried they may not be able to carry a child to term. When the doctor suggests my mom goes on bed rest, she immediately goes home and camps out in her fashionable apartment with a view of the 59th Street bridge. Several weeks and stacks of books later, my sister is born.
This is what my bed rest looks like.
Picture it. My Fair City, 2015. I am an older, tired, slightly anxious first-time pregnant lady. Though no miscarriages (thankfully), I have over two years of infertility to make me sufficiently jumpy. When the doctor suggests I go on bed rest, I get a steroid shot in the ass, and immediately go home and lay in bed feeling sorry for myself. I roll around watching The West Wing, feeling more and more stiff from the 3 total positions I feel comfortable with. Every time Chick moves, I’m grateful but also worried that with each shift, he/she may be putting pressure on my wee cervix. When I can’t sleep, I decide that Google will clearly help me get through this. I am wrong, and can’t sleep for the next two hours. I eventually make the prudent decision to put down my phone, and pick up a copy of Orlando. I fall into a fairly restless sleep, and wake up with a headache.
Of course, the picture of my mom’s bed rest is pretty much fiction. Oh, she lived in Manhattan in a fancy apartment with a doorman. It was like something out of Mad Men. But the fiction, I now see, is that bed rest is easy. Even in more cushy surroundings, you can’t turn off the voice in your own head that makes you nervous with every twinge or change. It seems nervous mothers are timeless, from 1969 to 2015.