That's me right now.
Resting. As I'm I'm typing this, I'm rocking some super-sized pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and mini-wheats. My hair looks like I'm gearing up for an audition with a Flock of Seagulls cover band. I haven't brushed my teeth, and just might not until this afternoon.
It looks like good ol' Type A, go-go-go Steph needs to take a dose of Chill Out and perhaps log a few sci-fi DVD marathons and some quality time with this 1200 page fine-print Gormenghast trilogy I got myself into.
And, I can't say that I mind. If you've read my blogs or spent time chatting with me during the day on Twitter, you know that I've really had a good pregnancy overall. But right toward the end, the Edema and (relatively) high blood pressure are hanging out like that weird uncle at the family reunion. The one who brings a case of cheap beer. For himself.
The edema, in particular, has made it a little hard to get through the day, since my show comes at, essentially, the end of my shift-- when I'm at my most tired, most puffy, and most apt to feel unnecessarily sweaty or some such other fun preggo side-effect.
Anyway, yesterday late morning I checked in at the doc's office and the same situation unfolded. I came in and my blood pressure was high, for me. I say "for me" because it sat at 110/70 without fail for months and only recently starting parking itself in the 140/85 range. Yesterday it was 120/95. But after laying there and resting, listening to the whoosh of this little baby's heart on the monitor, and laughing at how she really does move around when the husband gets close and talks to her, my blood pressure did something it hasn't done in a while. It dropped all the way down to 110/70.
So, more lounging for me. Resting works. I'll learn more Friday at my follow up appointment. I still don't have pre-eclampsia, which is great. Not saying it won't happen, just that it hasn't so far.
One really, really, really awesome thing: tomorrow, I am full-term, baby! 37 weeks. So, unless I go into labor today, I've done what I wanted to all along; get to 37 weeks. Basically, it means I could go into labor tomorrow and doctors would not consider her premature. And that's a real gift.
Also, a thank you to everyone on Twitter who immediately sent their well wishes and shared their stories with me. I heard from people who went on bedrest for *months*, or just at the end, or somewhere in between; and all of it makes a preggo gal feel connected. You get it; I'm making the best of this time by enjoying the quiet, the calm before the storm that is parenthood.
Besides, when else will I be able to say, "Doctors orders, honey. I can't vacuum."