Happy Anniversary,couch!

{Stef and I at my baby shower days before bed rest}

This time last year, my dad went in for hip replacement surgery (happy 1 year to your new hip, dad!). My mom and I sat waiting in the surgical waiting room watching TV and writing thank you notes for my baby shower that was a couple days before. I, being the clumsy little thing that I am, still had the boot on my foot after nearly breaking it about a week before that (long story short - I worked for a home builder. Times were slowing down, the phone rang and I was so excited that someone was calling that I ran through the home model and down the 2 stairs to my office in the finished garage. I promptly fell down the 2 stairs because I forgot that I was big, fat and pregnant. One trip to the ER and L&D later, I didn't break my foot, had a good sprain and only a couple contractions). I was having a couple contractions through out the day, so I kept drinking a ton of water and tea to slow them down. My dad got out of surgery in the late afternoon and we were able to see him. I remember going into the bathroom in his room during one contraction because it was so strong - we didn't want my dad to know that I was having contractions, but I do think I told my mom at that point. I was about 30 weeks pregnant, but my contractions weren't regular enough for me to worry about...until that strong one. After that, they started coming fast and furious. My mom and I left so dad could rest and after a couple more contractions, I knew it was time to call the doctor. The thing was, we were all prepared for this. My doctor very clearly told me this could because I was 8 weeks premature, and he said that preemies usually have preemies. I ran through the scenario a million times in my head, I just couldn't believe it was happening.....and that I was 2 hours away from my hospital....and that I was driving.

That's right, I drove. After the contractions really got strong, my mom began begging me to pull over. We needed gas and we needed to switch drivers. The thing was, driving was really helping me concentrate on something other than the fact that I was going into labor. I needed something to keep me busy, and doesn't a 2 hour drive sound like the perfect thing? What haven't I mentioned yet...Oh yea...that it was 5:00 in the evening and our 2 hour drive took almost 3 in rush hour traffic....and we were running out of gas. Like, on EMPTY running out of gas. That's when I really started to panic. I had this picture in my head of me in labor on the side of the road with a stalled vehicle hours away from my doctor. In the midst of trying to time contractions (2 minutes apart), trying to drive, giving Frank updates and my doctor calling every half hour (are you here yet? How far are you? UGH) my mom starts asking me if the baby has moved lately. Because, you know...in the midst of CONTRACTIONS I hadn't mentioned any fetal movement. Now, I love my mom....like really, really love her. But at that moment, I almost hit her. Thinking that my baby wasn't moving was basically the last thing that I needed added to my plate and at that moment I seriously could have killed her. Instead, I believe I told her that she wasn't allowed to talk anymore...LOL. Sorry mom!

Finally, we got to the hospital where Frankie, my doctor and the nurses are waiting. I get hooked up to the monitors and what I was feeling really were contractions 2 minutes apart. The thing was, the nurses didn't seem that worried. They seemed to be writing me off, even though the monitors were showing that I was right. About an hour later, my doctor came in and threw a fit. He took one look at the print out and was freaking that the nurses hadn't given me the shot of turbutaline yet. I got one shot and started feeling it right away - the turbutaline made me shake uncontrollably, feel nauseous and really, really hot all over my body. A while later, the shot still hadn't slowed the contractions to an acceptable level so they gave me another one which finally kicked it.

The nurses, ever so pleasant (ha) told Frank he could leave for the night and come back in the morning because they wanted to monitor me overnight. UM, WHAT?! I am freaking out, he is freaking out and you expect him to leave? Yeah, right. Internet, I present you reason number 5,097 why I love my husband - he slept on the floor of the hospital room. The triage room didn't have the wonderful chairs that turn into beds that they have in the delivery rooms, but they were able to find some blankets and a pillow for Frankie to get comfy on (haha). Too bad they didn't give him the sleeping pills that they gave me - he was up all night being woken by the monitor alarms, the IV alarms and nurses going in and out. Poor guy! The next morning, the contractions had stopped and we were allowed to go home. I was put on bed rest (allowed to go up and down the stairs once a day, only allowed to get up for the bathroom) and had to kiss my job and my freedom goodbye.

Dramatic? Sure...but when you're used to doing whatever you want, whenever you want and suddenly you can't get off the couch or out of the bed, it is a rough change. Frank couldn't take time off because he needed the time when the baby came and my mom couldn't come over (she has summers off) because she was helping my dad recover from his hip surgery the day before. So it was me, the dogs, the cat and the TV. All day, every day. I have never watched so many Baby Story episodes on TLC in my life. I read a ton (thanks to my neighbor Mariana who brought over a bunch of books) and went online a whole lot. My awesome employer, Julie, brought over dinner every night of the week for almost a month and a half. After a couple days of following all of the rules, I started to get antsy. I decided that I could swiffer the floors (just 5 minutes, I promise!) and it wouldn't make a difference. What. A. Lie. I had contractions for the next 2 hours. My 5 minute swiffer trip resulted in another doctor visit (I was on weekly trips at this point) and me getting Turbutaline pills to take whenever I had contractions. My stubborn self had a nice reality check - there really was a reason that I was on bed rest and I needed to take it seriously. So I hung around, lived for my trips to the doctor and phone calls to friends. And then I started to get antsy again. LOL. Every the persuasive person, I convinced the doctors to let me take little trips, as long as I promised to take it easy and take my pills when needed. We took a trip to Lake Geneva for Frankie's cousin's wedding and then spent the weekend in Geneva (at the Harrington) for my birthday a couple weeks later.

I can't believe it has been a year. So, happy anniversary, couch! I couldn't have survived bedrest without you...oh, and you too, Internet! And TV! I love you all :)

-maggie