i love lists. (but not bed rests.)

Bed rest is killing me. Not physically. Just mentally. Which just shocks (shocks!) me. Because I am the poster child of lazy procrastination. Next to the words "loveable, dangerous doofus" in the dictionary, you will find a picture of Sarah Palin. Next to the words "lazy, unbelievable procrastinator," you will find ME. Who knew lying around would be so hard??

And please: please do not tell me about the one friend you know who knows this one girl who knows this other girl who had a friend who was on bed rest for all 9 months of HER pregnancy so I should shut up and be thankful mine was only 4, 5 weeks. The pain is real, no matter what timeline you stick on it.

And please: please do not tell me to enjoy this time and read all the books, watch all the DVDs, get in all the good shows I possibly can. Believe me, I'm quite aware this is the calm before the storm and by mid-November (or sooner, depending on what we get), I will look back on these bright, halcyon days and sigh with longing. I've tried (and continue to try) to enjoy the extra relaxation time: I've completed 100 crossword puzzles (usually without cheating...probably because the book is called "500 Super Easy Crossword Puzzles You Can Probably Do Without Cheating!", I've started (but not finished) at least one short story, read 5 books, gone through a whole bunch of the DVDs I already own and love, and my eyes are swimming with all the CNN I've watched. Need a book recommendation? Ask Amy! Want a peek into someone else's DVD collection? Ask Amy! Got a political/economic/pop culture/international news question? Go ask Amy!

Here's what else I've learned during bed rest:

-5 different doctors will tell you 5 different things.

-Midwives are more reassuring and calming, but doctors sound more knowledgeable. When they're not disagreeing with one another.

-I'm really sick of needles and 24 hour urine samples.

-God is a really bad listener. It doesn't matter how many times you tell him you're sure you're going to die if he doesn't DO something about your situation, he just...doesn't do anything. Just like Congress. Clearly, I'm going to have to add on some outrageously unnecessary pork barrel projects to get his attention.

Last Friday morning I got sent to the hospital with a blood pressure of 152/104. I was told they were going to keep me for several hours to see if the blood pressure went down--they would make me lie down and if that didn't work, I'd get blood pressure medication. If that didn't work I'd go home with a baby. Hooray! ....Except I should know by now not to get my hopes up with these people: the blood pressure was still high, but it went down. But then, as it turned out, I got Dr. S on call. Dr. S is the "Research Guy," who follows all the latest research. So no medication for me--the latest research says it can mask signs of pre-eclampsia. Even though Dr. M said high blood pressure plus crazy swelling plus crazy water retention pretty much was pre-eclampsia. Even though Dr. B says I just have pregnancy induced hypertension.

So I got put on strict bed rest. And when they say strict, they mean: stay in bed with your feet up 23 hours a day/7 days a week. Bathroom breaks=okay; 10 minute showers = great; making yourself a sandwich and a cup of tea = NO!

I find I cannot do this. I can do about 18 hours a day/7 days a week. This is because I can't sleep at night...or I can sleep, but I can't stay asleep. And the best thing for me when I can't sleep is to sit in my rocking chair or pace a little. And also, sometimes I need a drink and can't call upstairs to Charles (who works from home) to bring me a drink. And also I was raised to be too self-sufficient. And I'm in a helping profession, and people in helping professions have a notoriously difficult time asking for help for themselves. Which I find quite ironic, don't you?

The BRIGHT side? They PROMISED me they won't let me go to 41 weeks. Today, I am at 39 weeks, which means I only have one more week of this at the most. Unless when I see Dr. H on Monday he turns out to be the "What the hell...let's go ahead and take this thing out of there" doctor.

The DARK side? The baby is head down, but not moving further like she should. This is most likely because of 2 large-ish fibroids. Which are not in her way, but are probably preventing the lower part of my uterus from contracting so she knows when to go. They could give me pitocin to induce, except I am completely not effaced and not dialated at all. So they'll most likely have to do a C-section. Except that the fibroids are right in the spot where they like to make the incisions. And they can't make the incision INTO the fibroids, because that will cause massive hemorraghing. And they can't remove the fibroids, because--you know, massive hemorraghing. Massive hemorraghing = possible maternal death. I don't know about you, but I don't like the sound of THAT.

So I get the incision that doesn't get hidden in the bikini line. You know, the incision that says "Hey everybody! I got cut open! Right here!"

The BRIGHT side? I couldn't give a flying rat's ass about where they make an incision at this point, as long as I get my body back. And also, I can use the scar when Melissa is a teenager doing annoying teenager things...you know, just as a gentle reminder: this is where you came from, and I didn't HAVE to let them cut you out of me. I gave you life--don't mess with me, girlfriend.

So. No baby, but it sounds like (a) I get to pick the due date (except she'll be a Scorpio, and I'm not so sure how a Scorpio child will fare in a Double-Pisces household); and (b) I can see the light at the end of this tunnel. I've been quite despondent and lethargic; especially after they cruelly got my hopes up last week and then left me high and dry. Freaking doctors.

Here's the rest of my updates (in list form, which I do so love):

1-If you sent me a baby shower gift, there IS a thank you card coming your way. Once I pulled myself out of bed rest despondency, I wrote thank you cards in a veritable flurry of gratefulness. If I know you well, your card will be so, so witty. If you got invited because you know my mom, your thank you card will be somewhat witty, and a tad shorter.

2-My writing hand hurts.

3-Before strict bed rest, I early voted! And it was totally cool! Because pregnant people get to jump the line. It took all the other 100+ people 2-3 hours to vote. Me? 15 minutes. And I saved some Georgia forests. And voted NAY for John Linder, my zone's Representative. Because he's anti-everything that I'm pro for. But mostly because this one time? About 3 years ago? I wrote John Linder and said: "Hey, quit sending me your spam propaganda mail; It's just going to make me vote AGAINST you." And did John Linder listen to me? Hell, no. Because far right wing nut jobs like John are wont to do that--ignore people.

And, while I realize I live in a red state in which I am surrounded by far right wingnut jobs like the KKK and People Against Democrats Just 'Cause, I feel good about making my voice heard. Hopefully the voting computers don't mess up my voice.

4-If I see John McCain do that dorky "air quotes" thing with his hands again, I will scream. Literally, I have to turn the channel every time he does it, it bothers me that much. It also makes him look sarcastically creepy. And what is all this "Joe the Plumber" talk?? I'm sick of Joe the Plumber this, Joe the Plumber that. How come nobody in the Republican party wants to talk about how all of this stuff is affecting Amy the Teacher? I'd like a little bit of political 15 minutes fame, too. It would get my mind off bed rest. You betcha.

5-I broke a tooth. I was eating a bagel and half a tooth just...BROKE...off. Fortunately, it's a back tooth and the filling is intact, so fortunately it doesn't hurt. Unfortunately, I can do nothing about it until the baby gets here. X-Rays are big no-no's, and novacaine isn't a good idea either. I'll probably need a root canal by the time I can do something about it. Faaabulous.

6-Also, I'm done with strangers in public. No more answers to goofy questions, no more indulgent behavior. DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT. The last time I was in public, the grocery store cashier who was checking me out asked the most nosiest, inappropriate questions. And not just the usual, "Are you carrying TWINS?!" or "When are you due?" or "Boy or girl?" questions. No, THIS chick wanted to know what name we'd picked, why we'd picked that name. And then went on to make other, better name suggestions. And then questioned my judgment when I turned down her suggestions. And then had the gall to get indignant when I told her we didn't name the baby Eula (after Charles' mom) because it was a bit too old-fashioned for us. Apparently, her name is a derivative of Eula, and this caused her tremendous hurt feelings.

Note to Ceola at Kroger: Go fuck yourself. Seriously.

6-I'm way too nice to people. Really way too nice. I wish I were bitchier. I wish I could just tell people to fuck themselves and then not feel bad later on.

7-This whiny blog entry was brought to you buy the letters PDQ, and the numbers 9 and 10.