Okay, yesterday was still not The Day.
I'm starting to feel like an ass for always proclaiming every doctor's appointment could be it. My first doctor-imposed goal was to make it to 28 weeks, then it was 30, 32 and maybe if I was really, super lucky, 34 weeks.
Well, I am at 35 weeks today. Now I feel silly for having sounded the alarm every single week for 10 weeks.
Not only do I feel like a bit of a fool, but I feel guilty for not working. I've been home on bed rest just lying here waiting for babies since June 1 and thinking the floaties would be here any day now. I hate the idea of letting people down. Of course, the worse part is that my workmates are totally fine without me. They tell me they miss me, but it's not like the office has come to a grinding halt in my absence.
So was my fetal specialist's dire prediction 10 weeks ago a false alarm? I've thought about it, and I actually don't think so.
Even though my babies have made it past the doctors' predictions, our littlest floatie is still very small. Last we measured, he clocked in at just over 3 lbs. That's because he's not getting as much blood as the big guy, who is about 4.5 lbs. Little Floatie only has two veins in his umbilical cord (instead of the usual three) and he's attached to a part of the placenta that's just not delivering as much blood and nutrients. So even though it often feels like I'm just sitting here wasting time, I think if I'd pushed myself to work longer, do more, keep going, I might have jeopardized his health.
My friends and family call me a rock star and say they're so proud of me for holding the babies in so long. I feel silly accepting that compliment. I'm getting praise for doing nothing -- literally -- for letting Matt do the shopping and cooking, for lying on my bed and ordering baby things online. To be hippy dippy about it, I'm being praised for having the strength to let go.
I'll never know for sure what would have been different if I'd pushed myself harder, had tried to keep working, going to the gym, socializing. Maybe the outcome would have been the same. Or maybe right now instead of blogging from home I would be sitting in the NICU nursing a super premature baby and cursing myself for not slowing down.
I don't want to be the mommy-to-be that cried wolf again next week, so even though I totally think this coming Monday will be The Day, I'm going to try to play it cool.
I'll just say this: The journey I'm on only has one ending -– these babies are coming out. It could be next week, it could be the week after that or even the week after that. But, the end of my pregnancy is coming to an end soon. Then a whole new journey will begin.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Today or Not Today?
Isn't it ironic, don't ya think?
Of course, now that I think today is really, really The Day, I'm finding all sorts of things to do to keep myself busy.
Last week, I thought I would lose my mind from boredom. On Saturday, I was especially cranky. I moped around all day feeling sorry for myself and took my frustration out on Matt just because he had the ability to actually leave the house, which he did, to have a burger and a beer with his friend.
I could not motivate any enthusiasm for anything – even the season premiere of my fave show True Blood, which I got on DVD from my pals at HBO. I watched it begrudgingly like a spoiled kid.
By Sunday, I finally snapped out of my mood, partly because we had visitors, who brought donuts and gossip, thank god.
Today, I'm feeling upbeat. I've been reading, writing, catching up on email and imagining all the things I could do with another week of bed rest. Yet somehow on this Monday -- just one day shy of 35 weeks pregnant -- I have a feeling of finality, like this is it!
In two hours, during our weekly specialist appointment, we'll know for sure…
Of course, now that I think today is really, really The Day, I'm finding all sorts of things to do to keep myself busy.
Last week, I thought I would lose my mind from boredom. On Saturday, I was especially cranky. I moped around all day feeling sorry for myself and took my frustration out on Matt just because he had the ability to actually leave the house, which he did, to have a burger and a beer with his friend.
I could not motivate any enthusiasm for anything – even the season premiere of my fave show True Blood, which I got on DVD from my pals at HBO. I watched it begrudgingly like a spoiled kid.
By Sunday, I finally snapped out of my mood, partly because we had visitors, who brought donuts and gossip, thank god.
Today, I'm feeling upbeat. I've been reading, writing, catching up on email and imagining all the things I could do with another week of bed rest. Yet somehow on this Monday -- just one day shy of 35 weeks pregnant -- I have a feeling of finality, like this is it!
In two hours, during our weekly specialist appointment, we'll know for sure…
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I Lied…
On Sunday when I said Matt and I were ready for the floaties, I thought I was telling the truth but I wasn't.
That evening, I started getting cranky. By Monday morning, I was in a full-blown panic-induced state of darkness. I kept thinking, 'Someone is going to literally cut me open today. Holy shit.'
I've had several women assure me that getting a c-section is not that bad, but for me the idea of having my uterus sliced open is incredibly unpleasant. I've had surgery before. It's not something I really care to repeat.
Then, there's the idea of life after the c-section. Two tiny beings will be depending on me for everything. In the months ahead there will be sleepless nights, raging hormones, sore boobs and lots of excrement. I don't know how on earth I can prepare for that, really.
At Dr. S's office, I watched Matt's expression as the doc informed us that both babies are still growing, though they've both slowed down; the little one has less amniotic fluid; and I am having contractions. My husband closed his eyes, dropped his head to his chest and rubbed his temples. I thought maybe he was going to pass out. He and I were both thinking, "This is it. This is really, really it." I thought we were ready, but when we believed the next words out of the doctor's mouth were going to be, "You should get to the hospital and deliver these babies," Matt and I were stricken with fear and foreboding.
Instead, the doctor said, "I don't see any reason we have to deliver you today. Make an appointment for next week."
I was totally stunned. Part of me wanted to say, "Really? Come ON! Let's get these guys out of me, already." The other part was thinking, "Whew! Now I can finish season 3 of 30 Rock on Netflix and watch the finale of Games of Thrones on Sunday. Oh, and I don't have to get cut open and become a mother today. Thank you!"
But now we're back to where we've been every week for the last seven weeks. My life is like Groundhog Day. I already know what's coming this Sunday: Takeout dinner, Game of Thrones, crankiness and panic. Will I ever actually be ready? I kinda think I won't.
That evening, I started getting cranky. By Monday morning, I was in a full-blown panic-induced state of darkness. I kept thinking, 'Someone is going to literally cut me open today. Holy shit.'
I've had several women assure me that getting a c-section is not that bad, but for me the idea of having my uterus sliced open is incredibly unpleasant. I've had surgery before. It's not something I really care to repeat.
Then, there's the idea of life after the c-section. Two tiny beings will be depending on me for everything. In the months ahead there will be sleepless nights, raging hormones, sore boobs and lots of excrement. I don't know how on earth I can prepare for that, really.
At Dr. S's office, I watched Matt's expression as the doc informed us that both babies are still growing, though they've both slowed down; the little one has less amniotic fluid; and I am having contractions. My husband closed his eyes, dropped his head to his chest and rubbed his temples. I thought maybe he was going to pass out. He and I were both thinking, "This is it. This is really, really it." I thought we were ready, but when we believed the next words out of the doctor's mouth were going to be, "You should get to the hospital and deliver these babies," Matt and I were stricken with fear and foreboding.
Instead, the doctor said, "I don't see any reason we have to deliver you today. Make an appointment for next week."
I was totally stunned. Part of me wanted to say, "Really? Come ON! Let's get these guys out of me, already." The other part was thinking, "Whew! Now I can finish season 3 of 30 Rock on Netflix and watch the finale of Games of Thrones on Sunday. Oh, and I don't have to get cut open and become a mother today. Thank you!"
But now we're back to where we've been every week for the last seven weeks. My life is like Groundhog Day. I already know what's coming this Sunday: Takeout dinner, Game of Thrones, crankiness and panic. Will I ever actually be ready? I kinda think I won't.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Last Sunday?
This week will mark 34 weeks pregnant. (I always count Mondays as the turning point, though Tuesday will be exactly 34 weeks.) This is as far as any of my doctors predicted I would make it into pregnancy. So is this literally my final day as a non-parent?
I have no way of knowing the answer. As usual, it's all up to Dr. S. Tomorrow we will have the answers to the all important unknowns: Do the babies still have enough amniotic fluid, strong heartbeats and enough blood flow? Has our little floatie, who two weeks ago weighed 2 lbs., 13 oz., grown enough? If the answer to any of these things is "no," it's off to the hospital we go.
I could be a bad mother for thinking this, but part of me is really ready to meet these little guys – and get them out of my body. Today I developed a pain in the upper left part of my back that won't seem to go away. It's hard to sleep, sit up, lie down, stand, walk or just move in general.
This morning I slept in until 9 a.m. Matt had to come in and wake me up. Lying on the bed next to me he mused, "Is this our last Sunday alone?" I wondered, "Is this my last day to read the paper and drink coffee?" "Is this the last day our house will be quiet?" If it is, I haven't done anything earth-shattering to mark my last day of freedom. I made banana bread. We ate tacos for lunch. Otherwise, I sat on the bed most of the day reading the New York Times and surfing the Web.
I have often felt paralyzing fear at the idea of becoming a parent. (Only to be matched by the paralyzing sorrow I felt when I thought it might never happen for us.) The waiting game of the last couple months hasn't taken away my fear of parenthood, but it has made me more at peace with the inevitable. As Matt says, there is no alternate ending -- the babies have to come out at some point. So whether it's tomorrow or a week from tomorrow, we're ready. At least we're as ready as we can be.
I have no way of knowing the answer. As usual, it's all up to Dr. S. Tomorrow we will have the answers to the all important unknowns: Do the babies still have enough amniotic fluid, strong heartbeats and enough blood flow? Has our little floatie, who two weeks ago weighed 2 lbs., 13 oz., grown enough? If the answer to any of these things is "no," it's off to the hospital we go.
I could be a bad mother for thinking this, but part of me is really ready to meet these little guys – and get them out of my body. Today I developed a pain in the upper left part of my back that won't seem to go away. It's hard to sleep, sit up, lie down, stand, walk or just move in general.
This morning I slept in until 9 a.m. Matt had to come in and wake me up. Lying on the bed next to me he mused, "Is this our last Sunday alone?" I wondered, "Is this my last day to read the paper and drink coffee?" "Is this the last day our house will be quiet?" If it is, I haven't done anything earth-shattering to mark my last day of freedom. I made banana bread. We ate tacos for lunch. Otherwise, I sat on the bed most of the day reading the New York Times and surfing the Web.
I have often felt paralyzing fear at the idea of becoming a parent. (Only to be matched by the paralyzing sorrow I felt when I thought it might never happen for us.) The waiting game of the last couple months hasn't taken away my fear of parenthood, but it has made me more at peace with the inevitable. As Matt says, there is no alternate ending -- the babies have to come out at some point. So whether it's tomorrow or a week from tomorrow, we're ready. At least we're as ready as we can be.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
What Kind of Parent Will I Be?
I'm haunted by the fear that I'm going to be an inadequate parent.
There are things I am good at, but that list is far shorter than the list of stuff I don't get, never learned and will likely never know.
To be optimistic, let's start with the good stuff: I have big heart, a generous spirit, patience, a love of reading, a sense of adventure and an unquenchable appetite for new experiences and travel. I'm a good swimmer. I'm not afraid of things like climbing trees, heights, roller-coasters or riding a bike through Times Square. I've read a lot of Shakespeare. I can be funny. I like writing. I'm learning to garden. I know the names of several tropical flowers. I can drive a stick shift. I can (sort of) ski. I'm reliable and loyal. I'm a good friend, usually. I'll do things for friends like pick them up at the airport. I always bring wine or beer when I'm invited to a party.
As for the things I am not good at: I don't know much about history. I'm terrible at speaking French despite years of lessons as a teen. I've never run a marathon, gone skydiving or participated in a triathlon. I'm afraid of horses. I can't cook. I can't play an instrument. I never know what bands are hip. I'm not very tech savvy even though I've worked online for years. I don't volunteer. I watch too much TV and can't seem to do anything productive after dark. I eat croissants on the weekends. I don't like schmoozing or networking. I'm terrible at math. I can't paint or draw. I'm not good a crossword puzzles or trivia games. I'm not particularly fashionable. I lack discipline and often confidence, too.
Those last two things are what I worry about most. I want to give my boys a good example of how to be happy and to achieve remarkable things. I want them to believe in themselves and work hard. But how will I teach them those lessons if I haven't learned them myself? I've sworn a million times that I would work harder, do more, be more accomplished. Of course, there have been lots of times when I've been proud of myself, but I have put off many things I want to do, thinking someday I'll skydive or learn to cook or become a professional cyclist or write a book. In the past, I've made small efforts towards some of those goals. Yet, they remain on my list of things to do.
Well, I'm about to have two babies, which, from what I hear, takes up quite a lot of time and money and energy. I've had 30+ years to do what I wanted. Why is there still so much left undone? I don't want to relegate my life's list of goals to the backburner. And it's not because I'm selfish. The idea of having kids makes me want to be a better person. I want my kids to be proud of me. I hope I can give them that gift -- someday soon.
There are things I am good at, but that list is far shorter than the list of stuff I don't get, never learned and will likely never know.
To be optimistic, let's start with the good stuff: I have big heart, a generous spirit, patience, a love of reading, a sense of adventure and an unquenchable appetite for new experiences and travel. I'm a good swimmer. I'm not afraid of things like climbing trees, heights, roller-coasters or riding a bike through Times Square. I've read a lot of Shakespeare. I can be funny. I like writing. I'm learning to garden. I know the names of several tropical flowers. I can drive a stick shift. I can (sort of) ski. I'm reliable and loyal. I'm a good friend, usually. I'll do things for friends like pick them up at the airport. I always bring wine or beer when I'm invited to a party.
As for the things I am not good at: I don't know much about history. I'm terrible at speaking French despite years of lessons as a teen. I've never run a marathon, gone skydiving or participated in a triathlon. I'm afraid of horses. I can't cook. I can't play an instrument. I never know what bands are hip. I'm not very tech savvy even though I've worked online for years. I don't volunteer. I watch too much TV and can't seem to do anything productive after dark. I eat croissants on the weekends. I don't like schmoozing or networking. I'm terrible at math. I can't paint or draw. I'm not good a crossword puzzles or trivia games. I'm not particularly fashionable. I lack discipline and often confidence, too.
Those last two things are what I worry about most. I want to give my boys a good example of how to be happy and to achieve remarkable things. I want them to believe in themselves and work hard. But how will I teach them those lessons if I haven't learned them myself? I've sworn a million times that I would work harder, do more, be more accomplished. Of course, there have been lots of times when I've been proud of myself, but I have put off many things I want to do, thinking someday I'll skydive or learn to cook or become a professional cyclist or write a book. In the past, I've made small efforts towards some of those goals. Yet, they remain on my list of things to do.
Well, I'm about to have two babies, which, from what I hear, takes up quite a lot of time and money and energy. I've had 30+ years to do what I wanted. Why is there still so much left undone? I don't want to relegate my life's list of goals to the backburner. And it's not because I'm selfish. The idea of having kids makes me want to be a better person. I want my kids to be proud of me. I hope I can give them that gift -- someday soon.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Stir Crazy... Going, Going, Gone
Well, I've been at home and not working now for eight days, and that seems to be my tipping point. I'm bored and lonely and tired and feeling sort of sorry for myself.
This morning I didn't get out of bed until almost 9 a.m., and only got up at all because the floaties were kicking me like mad. I could basically hear them saying, "Mom, get up! We're hungry!" So, I had a little conversation with them – out loud 'cause who else am I going to talk to. I said to them, "Okay, okay, Mom has been a lazy bones this morning. We're all going to get up and have some breakfast." I apologized to them for being a neglectful lump.
We three had some raisin bran with blueberries and blackberries, some water, OJ and coffee. (Yep, I'm allowed one small cup.)
But beyond that I couldn't seem to motivate myself to do much of anything. I finished reading my book and watched a little Food Network. It took me until noon to even shower. I decided I absolutely had to leave the house or I'd go insane, so I ran a quick errand to mail something and get some food. I was gone 25 minutes at the most. Then I came right back home and couldn’t figure out what to do besides eat lunch and watch old episodes of "30 Rock."
I'm definitely starting to lose it a little. Every day, I log onto my work email, but mostly just get junk mail these days. I check Facebook, read some news stories, hem and haw over baby things to buy online and then, the highlight of my day is to write a blog post.
Still on my list of things to do: write my memoir, put together my wedding photo album, make a floatie-appropriate play list on my iPod and buy all the baby shizz we still haven't gotten.
So what will I do now? A couple more episodes of "30 Rock" sounds great….
This morning I didn't get out of bed until almost 9 a.m., and only got up at all because the floaties were kicking me like mad. I could basically hear them saying, "Mom, get up! We're hungry!" So, I had a little conversation with them – out loud 'cause who else am I going to talk to. I said to them, "Okay, okay, Mom has been a lazy bones this morning. We're all going to get up and have some breakfast." I apologized to them for being a neglectful lump.
We three had some raisin bran with blueberries and blackberries, some water, OJ and coffee. (Yep, I'm allowed one small cup.)
But beyond that I couldn't seem to motivate myself to do much of anything. I finished reading my book and watched a little Food Network. It took me until noon to even shower. I decided I absolutely had to leave the house or I'd go insane, so I ran a quick errand to mail something and get some food. I was gone 25 minutes at the most. Then I came right back home and couldn’t figure out what to do besides eat lunch and watch old episodes of "30 Rock."
I'm definitely starting to lose it a little. Every day, I log onto my work email, but mostly just get junk mail these days. I check Facebook, read some news stories, hem and haw over baby things to buy online and then, the highlight of my day is to write a blog post.
Still on my list of things to do: write my memoir, put together my wedding photo album, make a floatie-appropriate play list on my iPod and buy all the baby shizz we still haven't gotten.
So what will I do now? A couple more episodes of "30 Rock" sounds great….
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
33 Weeks and Counting
Yesterday was another one of those "Will this be The Day?" days. But once again, it was not.
Our fetal specialist Dr. S -- who has previously scared the shit out of me and Matt with his dire predictions for our babies -- has completely changed his demeanor since we made it to 32 weeks. Now, he acts jovial and relaxed during our visits. He laughs and seems nonchalant about the babies' health. Yesterday, he playfully showed us an alarmingly loud buzzer that is used to wake up babies in utero who are not being active enough. Our babies are plenty active, but Dr. S just wanted to show us the buzzer for fun.
As usual, I got hooked up to the fetal heart monitor. (See photo to the left) The boys were sluggish at first, but then became super active. They bounced around causing the sensors to make seismic-like squiggles on the heart monitor paper. Dr. S said the "kids," as he calls them, "look beautiful on the monitor."
Their blood flow continues to be fine. Their amniotic fluid is normal. It's almost like I am a normal pregnant lady now. Almost. Yes, my babies – at least one of them – will go to the NICU for sure. I'm still high risk because I'm having twins. And I spend most of my time in some sort of reclined position.
But I'm otherwise an average bed-resting pregnant lady with sore joints, achy feet, stuffy sinuses and a big belly. Oh, and now I'm also a lady with two car seats in the back of my car and a stroller on the way. It's gettin' real folks.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Reaching Out Beyond My Comfort Zone
I've been writing here in anonymity for a couple of months. I started my blog simply to keep a record of what was happening and to give myself a place to blurt it all out.
For some reason the format of a blog – of hitting publish and seeing the text live – gives me a sense of finality and relief. I lived it. I wrote it. I posted it. Done. Plus, it's easier to read and more focused than journaling in a spiral notebook, which I have done off-and-on my whole life – and it doesn't take up any closet space. (My husband does not understand why I insist on keeping boxes of old journals and files full of old writing, but I simply can't let them go.)
Last week, in a moment of optimism and open-heartedness I decided to share my blog by posting the link on Facebook. The moment I did it, I felt terrified and like I might have to lie down. Was it too much? Did I want people I went to high school with and people I work with to read my musings? Was it too embarrassing or too raw? I was so nervous, but I took a breath and let it go.
About five hours later, I went back to Facebook to see if anyone had noticed my post – and I got wonderful, supportive reactions. In fact, I continue to get encouraging comments.
I don't know if anyone will come back to look at the blog again, but I'm grateful for the support I've gotten so far.
I think this motherhood thing is really going to force me to reach out, to ask for help, to expose my vulnerable side more than I'm used to. It's a great feeling to know that when I reach out, there are some people willing to reach back.
For some reason the format of a blog – of hitting publish and seeing the text live – gives me a sense of finality and relief. I lived it. I wrote it. I posted it. Done. Plus, it's easier to read and more focused than journaling in a spiral notebook, which I have done off-and-on my whole life – and it doesn't take up any closet space. (My husband does not understand why I insist on keeping boxes of old journals and files full of old writing, but I simply can't let them go.)
Last week, in a moment of optimism and open-heartedness I decided to share my blog by posting the link on Facebook. The moment I did it, I felt terrified and like I might have to lie down. Was it too much? Did I want people I went to high school with and people I work with to read my musings? Was it too embarrassing or too raw? I was so nervous, but I took a breath and let it go.
About five hours later, I went back to Facebook to see if anyone had noticed my post – and I got wonderful, supportive reactions. In fact, I continue to get encouraging comments.
I don't know if anyone will come back to look at the blog again, but I'm grateful for the support I've gotten so far.
I think this motherhood thing is really going to force me to reach out, to ask for help, to expose my vulnerable side more than I'm used to. It's a great feeling to know that when I reach out, there are some people willing to reach back.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Hiccups and Gas and Cramps, Oh My….
Pregnancy is full of a lot of unfamiliar aches and pains – and it seems that the line between what's normal and what's life-threatening is disturbingly thin.
Yesterday, after Floatie B (the big one) got hiccups for the fifth time in a day, Matt looked it up. Yes, most valid pregnancy web sites stated that fetal hiccups are totally normal, nothing to worry about. But some of the comments on these sites -- comments from random, non-medical people on the Internet -- claim that too much hiccupping can mean a baby is gasping for breath and perhaps sitting on its own umbilical cord.
Normally, I have a good bullshit meter. But on top of the Baby B hiccups, I was experiencing cramping in the lower right side of my uterus. Or maybe it was just gas. Or it was both. As everyone knows, it's really hard to differentiate between gas and cramps.
Anyway, it was starting to get dark. I was hungry. I was thinking about the fact that my OB is going on vacation for five days next week. Suddenly I was afraid that those Internet comments were right. Floatie B was slowly strangling himself in my womb and I would soon be faced with the worst nightmare any expectant mom could have.
"Matt," I yelled. "I need my phone. I have to call the doctor." As I was dialing, I looked at my husband and asked, "Do you think I'm crazy?" More than almost anything, I hate the idea of being one of those paranoid, annoying moms. But Matt looked scared too. We'd both let the Internet comments get to us and wanted to be safe instead of sorry.
Before I knew it, my doctor was on the line and I told her everything that was happening. She assured me, "there is no such thing as too many hiccups" for a baby in utero. "Hiccups," she said, "are one of the most reassuring signs of a healthy baby."
I hung up. I cried from relief. And then I started to worry about why Foatie A has not had the hiccups yet.
Yesterday, after Floatie B (the big one) got hiccups for the fifth time in a day, Matt looked it up. Yes, most valid pregnancy web sites stated that fetal hiccups are totally normal, nothing to worry about. But some of the comments on these sites -- comments from random, non-medical people on the Internet -- claim that too much hiccupping can mean a baby is gasping for breath and perhaps sitting on its own umbilical cord.
Normally, I have a good bullshit meter. But on top of the Baby B hiccups, I was experiencing cramping in the lower right side of my uterus. Or maybe it was just gas. Or it was both. As everyone knows, it's really hard to differentiate between gas and cramps.
Anyway, it was starting to get dark. I was hungry. I was thinking about the fact that my OB is going on vacation for five days next week. Suddenly I was afraid that those Internet comments were right. Floatie B was slowly strangling himself in my womb and I would soon be faced with the worst nightmare any expectant mom could have.
"Matt," I yelled. "I need my phone. I have to call the doctor." As I was dialing, I looked at my husband and asked, "Do you think I'm crazy?" More than almost anything, I hate the idea of being one of those paranoid, annoying moms. But Matt looked scared too. We'd both let the Internet comments get to us and wanted to be safe instead of sorry.
Before I knew it, my doctor was on the line and I told her everything that was happening. She assured me, "there is no such thing as too many hiccups" for a baby in utero. "Hiccups," she said, "are one of the most reassuring signs of a healthy baby."
I hung up. I cried from relief. And then I started to worry about why Foatie A has not had the hiccups yet.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Working Girl
I have worked since I was 12 years old.
I started earning money with odd jobs -- babysitting, watering flowers for neighbors, sweeping up fall leaves for family friends. In high school, I filed papers and ran errands for a doctor's office where my aunt was a nurse one summer. When my mother opened a clothing store called The Creative Edge when I was a sophomore, I worked there. I spent two summers as an usher working 6 days a week at the Cirque du Soleil in San Francisco. With the money I made, I bought my first car.
In college, I was on a work-study program and held down a job in addition to my classes. When I moved to New York, I took the first job I could get and never looked back.
I have not had more than two weeks off since 1994 -– until now. As of two days ago, I stopped working. I'm just home. On bed rest. All the time.
For me, not doing a job brings on a strange feeling of weightlessness like floating underwater. It's quiet and slow and my body moves with the currents of the day.
I feel like I should be accomplishing life's list of things to do –- everything from writing my memoirs to finishing our wedding album and sewing the button eyes securely onto Matt's childhood teddy bear that's on display in the floaties' room -– but somehow the hours go by and those things don't get done.
I worry that too much not working will make me feel unmoored, mentally and physically adrift, maybe even depressed. So far, though, I'm okay. It's been a whole day and half and I haven't gone completely mad. We'll see how long that lasts. Tick tock.
I started earning money with odd jobs -- babysitting, watering flowers for neighbors, sweeping up fall leaves for family friends. In high school, I filed papers and ran errands for a doctor's office where my aunt was a nurse one summer. When my mother opened a clothing store called The Creative Edge when I was a sophomore, I worked there. I spent two summers as an usher working 6 days a week at the Cirque du Soleil in San Francisco. With the money I made, I bought my first car.
In college, I was on a work-study program and held down a job in addition to my classes. When I moved to New York, I took the first job I could get and never looked back.
I have not had more than two weeks off since 1994 -– until now. As of two days ago, I stopped working. I'm just home. On bed rest. All the time.
For me, not doing a job brings on a strange feeling of weightlessness like floating underwater. It's quiet and slow and my body moves with the currents of the day.
I feel like I should be accomplishing life's list of things to do –- everything from writing my memoirs to finishing our wedding album and sewing the button eyes securely onto Matt's childhood teddy bear that's on display in the floaties' room -– but somehow the hours go by and those things don't get done.
I worry that too much not working will make me feel unmoored, mentally and physically adrift, maybe even depressed. So far, though, I'm okay. It's been a whole day and half and I haven't gone completely mad. We'll see how long that lasts. Tick tock.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
A Reprieve
Yesterday was not the day. I had my go-bag packed and in the trunk of the car. I had friends, family and coworkers on high alert. I think even the floaties were nervous going to the doctor's office. But Dr. S looked at me and said, "Well, you're 32 weeks along. And you know what, you're going to stay pregnant a little longer."
So we – me, Matt and the floaties -- have earned a reprieve. Dr. S even said he thinks I'll make it to 34 weeks. I am amazed. He seems amazed. Our families are amazed.
"You've passed the scary part of the pregnancy," Dr. S added.
Slowly, I am taking my finger off the panic button.
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