Today my class was supposed to be going on a field trip that includes a nature hike and sploshing around in a river, picking up slippery rocks and looking for macroinvertibrates. I wish there was an emoticon that truly captures the look my doctor gave me when I asked him about it. Part: Are-you-serious? Part: Don’t-even-dream-of-it. Part: Do-I-have-to-chain-you-to-a-couch-and-feed-you-a-diet-of-Common-Sense-&-Caution.
Outcome: I won’t be going; apparently nature trails and river explorations are not acceptable activities for people who can no longer see their feet. So I took the day off… and woke up to it bucketing out and the trip being postponed.
I am not handling this well. My parent chaperones received four different e-mails with instructions for today (& then cancelling today) – and this was only partially due to baby brain causing the omission of important details like WHEN they should show up at school. I also called the substitute at home twice to give her directions and left her two sets of plans: one for the trip and one for in case the trip was cancelled. My cell number is circled in red in case she runs into any questions. Not that she’ll need it, the kiddos in my class this year are the definition of angelic.
And here I sit, at home, fighting the urge to pick up the phone and call in to my classroom to make sure there are no last minute questions. Did I mention that the school day only started 15 minutes ago?
If I need to, (once I finish typing this) I will sit on my hands. Hide my phone. Go outside and pace the backyard — *looks out window*. Maybe not that last one. And, er, maybe I shouldn’t hide my phone. With baby brain it’s likely I’ll never find it again.
I will not, however, call, e-mail, or go visit the school to check on the kiddos. Will. Not.
Can you sense that I’m having some separation anxiety? There are two weeks until I have to walk out of my classroom door and teach myself not to look back. After October 15th, they are not MY class anymore.
Once the Schmidtlets arrive, I know I’ll be far too enamored with my bundles of baby to miss them. But it’s the interim weeks, the couch rest leading into bed rest weeks, that keep me up at night.
I’m not a sitter. I’m not a TV watcher. I’m not a do-for-me-what-I-can-do-for-myself girl. And more than all that, I’m not good at good-byes or letting go. Each year I cry at elementary school graduation as my kiddos prepare to leave for the summer and middle school. This year I’ll be the one leaving, and I need to learn to be okay with that.
So today is practice. And just in case I’ve forgotten the reason for all this sitting, I’ve scheduled an ultrasound for this afternoon. One look at those squirmy Schmidtlets on the screen and I’m sure I’ll find all the strength I need to park my Twin Belly on the couch. It’ll be a great reminder to stop looking backwards and to look forward to a time when those babies are out of the Twin Belly and in my arms.