A few weeks ago my doctor said, “If you get to 34 weeks, I will let you do whatever you want.” So you bet your bottom dollar that on the 238th day of this gestational period I gingerly walked to the mailbox and even wore a pair of maternity pants as oppose to a grandma nightgown. 7 days later I went back to the doctor for a 35 week checkup and a quick manual exam determined that the bulging increased and I was sentenced back to the couch. The short lived week of freedom was just what I need to rejuvenate myself mentally and emotionally to endure the next couple of weeks. The longer this last the less chance of a NICU stay (which of course means less $$$ spent, which is nice considering I have been unemployed for 9 months) -- It also reflects well for future pregnancies.
I've been going to church lately. (Because I finally realized that watching the Music and the Spoken Word didn't count) Before my hometeachers brought the sacrament every week but now that we are out of the "danger zone" I've been able to go by myself. Well, me, Spencer and the wheelchair. I hate that thing. I ask Spence to take me 20 minutes early so I can get settled white he stows the wheelchair away somewhere hidden. Then we wait afterward before I get back in the thing again. Super awkward.
Lately we have been enjoying endless rounds of Rummikub and snowcones which is making for a lovely summer so far. I told Spencer I really wanted to go on a vacation, then he turned to me, laughed and said, “you have been on vacation for 15 weeks”. Touché. But I mean a real vacation away from the 550 square feet that surround me. A vacation on a beach with a nice book and piña colada in hand. I’m hoping when I see this little guy’s face that I am taken to that place (mentally) and that all the worry, boredom and weight gain becomes insignificant. Dang, he is going to have to be really cute.