This is the one where I freak out my parents when I say that I am seriously battling urges to get up out of bed, do a couple loads of laundry, walk around the block, go shopping, drive myself to Starbucks for a giant caffeinated, sugary beverage and try a couple of cartwheels in the backyard...
All of the latent rebelling that I DIDN'T do as a teenager (you've never seen such a goodie-goodie) is starting to chip away at my resolve to be the good bedrester. I have been in bed for 13 and a half weeks at this point and I'm not sure how much more "resting" I have in me.
My shower is this Sunday and I have already announced to anyone who will listen to me that I AM going to be spending most of the day downstairs, on the couch, out of bed, and I AM going to eat whatever I want, at least during the few hours I am being social. Part of me feels guilty and bad mother-ish for that declaration, but one afternoon, when weighed against the past 98 days during which I have been so good, really isn't that big of a deal (as long as I don't go into labor at 4pm on Sunday...)
Truly, I don't know how much more of the whole 45 degree angle crap I can take. The more they allow me up for doctor's appointments and the like, the less I understand why I'm not allowed to sit on the damn couch, either in my house or at a friend's house. It's still sitting!!!!
My fingers are crossed that the doctor is going to start loosening the chains after this Thursday's appointments. Even my hyper-cautious, nervous nelly perinatologist (who I have avoided like the plague since getting out of the hospital) told me that by 32 weeks they would start loosening their vice-like grip on me. Well, I'll be almost 33 weeks by Thursday. Something's gotta give.