Do not pass Go. Report directly to BED

 My last day of school was Friday. I’ve spent the past seven weeks very conflicted about today – the battle of exhaustion versus my desire to teach. I wasn’t surprised to discover that I woke up this morning feeling a little lost soul-ish.
I spent the morning as a flitterbug —  popping from one task to the next without accomplishing much of anything. Any progress I might have made was hindered by Biscotti. She’s been a wee bit overprotective as of late; she will not let the Twin Belly out of her sight. Today she added a new trick:  doing her dangdest to herd me back to bed.
I should’ve listened.
This afternoon we had our first NONstress test. They hooked up monitors to capture the babies’ heartbeats and a third monitor to my uterus.  In typical Bean Sprout fashion, he showed off for the doctors by doing all sorts of barrel rolls and squirm-worm maneuvers. And in typical Twin Belly fashion, my uterus reacted to his movements by having what I thought were Braxton Hicks contractions.
They weren’t. Apparently they’re the real deal.  And regular.
The doctor took one look at my printout and announced: Bed Rest.
St. Matt and I exchanged a look that said everything: But wait! We’re not ready yet. It’s my first day off work. You said I’d have some time to run errands and take it easy. I was going to make cookies tonight. We were going to walk the dogs. I have plans tomorrow. We have plans this weekend. We’re NOT Ready.
Out loud we said, “Okay, what do we need to know?” because none of that matters. And we’ll do just about anything to make sure these two little boys stay put and stay safe for as many weeks as possible.
So now I sit. And wait. Thursday AM’s our next NST and I’m hoping for better results.
In the meantime, Biscotti, bodyguard puggle extraordinaire, is thrilled that I’m taking her advice and lying down. If a puggle could gloat, that’s what she’d be doing, from her supervisory post at the foot of my bed.

11 Replies to “Do not pass Go. Report directly to BED”

  1. Oh Gosh! I’m sorry to hear you’re on bed rest but its of course for the best. Hope your DVR is jam-packed with stuff to keep you entertained.

    How many weeks are you now? I am so excited for you! Before you know it, you will be a proud twin momma. It’s so much work but so much fun.

  2. Team Biscotti FTW! Stay in bed and learn to love it, woman. Don’t make me fly over there, because I don’t actually know where you live and I’d just be wandering around aimlessly for weeks.

    Also, I’m glad you’ll be blogging more. 🙂

  3. Suze – if her head gets any bigger, she’ll need a new collar.

    Linda – Seriously. The Schmidtlets are clearly future tumble bugs… but they can wait a few more weeks/months!

    Nicole – 28 weeks! And the DVR is jam-packed because I haven’t been able to stay awake and watch anything for weeks!

    Jenn – Yes, ma’am! And if I try and get up, she just climbs on top of me. She’s surprisingly strong for a 19lb dog! So don’t worry, I’m in good hands… er, paws.

  4. Someday when Bean Sprout is a BIG teenage boy, you will follow him as he cartwheels out the door and say, “You’ve been causing me angst since before you were born!” And he’ll burn rubber out of the driveway, but Acorn will shake his head from his Angel Chair by Mama’s side, and hold your hand until Bean Sprout cartwheels back home and gives you a hug, and then you’ll remember every second of angst was worth it.


    Omg I’m so sappy today! 😉

  5. Emily – LOL! And then I’ll re-claim my car keys so I can go have the gray hairs I haven’t pulled out dyed back to brown?

    And this is when my mother will call and say, “Now you understand what you put me through…”

  6. Try to enjoy your rest while you can because Emily is probably on to something with tumbling Bean Sprout. And I am sure Acorn probably won’t be all that angelic either…unless he takes after his saint of a dad instead of the mom who used to think she could fly 😉

  7. Irish – I have NO IDEA what you’re talking about, I was a perfect angel 😉 *hides all video footage from my impish childhood*

    But, seriously, TWO little me’s? That’s a scary thought — we need one saintly boy!

  8. Dogs know best. Hang in there. So good to hear your sense of humor. These babies are very lucky to have a mom like you!

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