Due to a complication found in Wednesday’s ultrasound, I’ve been on fairly strict bedrest since Wedneday morning, resulting in me having to bow out of one of my favorite regional writers’ conferences, The Emerald City Conference,  held here annually in Bellevue, along with a librarian event and a book club in Woodinville this coming Monday night.  It’s tough being back on bedrest.  I’m reading lots but I hate the worry that accompanies these orders.  Of course I don’t want to lose the baby.  Of course I need to stay as still as possible.  But remaining still makes my mind race.  My body is used to activity and yet since August 11th I’ve been on bedrest for nearly six weeks. 

I always wanted a big family but I’m not one of those women that get pregnant easy and have these easy, breezy pregnancies.   My first delivery was scary.  I was beat up so badly getting my nine pound boy out, I ended up needing four transfusions and was unable to hold him until the next day due to being so weak.  In the olden days I would have died.  They wouldn’t have been able to patch me together.  I’m grateful for medicine that allows me to make these babies and deliver them, but I do wish the process were easier, but maybe if it were, I wouldn’t appreciate the miracle of it so much.  I battled with depression when I was in my twenties but I never experienced post-partum depression and I think its because I was just so damn glad to have those babies out, and safe, and healthy.   Of course I was sleep deprived and cranky at times, but I always felt like a million bucks. 

I’m craving that million buck feeling right now. Craving some exercise as well.  Reading, however, is keeping me sane.  Since Wednesday I’ve read three books, the British chick lit Game Over by Adele Parks, More Than a Mistress by Mary Balogh, and the acclaimed memoir, The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.   I’ve a good seven books sitting on my nightstand and so I know I’ll be able to pass the next week without terrible struggle, especially as neighbors and friends have been bringing me meals since I’m not allowed out of bed to cook, but I am ready for the old me to return.   The one with tons of energy, lots of activity, the folder filled with travel plans. 

Tomorrow I have two doctors appointments and perhaps a referral to a neo-natal specialist.  Although I hit week 12 here in just days, this little baby isn’t out of the woods yet.  I can’t wait for May.  Can’t wait to have the baby in my arms and be able to count the fingers and toes and know we did it again.  One more miracle.  One more joy.

My youngest son Ty has a way with words.  He has since he learned to talk.  If I have children being clever or saying something poignant  in my books its probably because son Ty said the same thing in real life.

This morning was one of those moments.

I was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase zipping up his black skateboard sweatshirt covered in little skulls and he says to me, “Mom, you’re getting fat.”

I glance down and my stomach is hanging out between my white sweatpants and turquoise t-shirt.   There was a fair amount of belly there.   “I know, honey.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile.  “At least you know its working.” 

I just hope he’ll be as supportive when I go to lose the baby weight.