There’s no crying in T-ball or is there?

On Thursday, my 37th birthday, I had my big outing for the week. I drove to the city to see Fancy Doc. Rocket Man met me there and we saw the little darling on the u/s. She is measuring perfectly and all of her organs look great. Placenta, umbilical cord, fluid level, all good. My cervix is 3 cm, thanks to the bootlace holding it together. Funneling is minimal. I didn’t have a contraction so we didn’t see the funneling that happened two weeks ago during a contraction.

Fancy doc checked my cervix. It still feels “softish”. The pressure on it isn’t significant. He is very glad that he put the more elaborate type of cerclage in because without it, we’d be screwed. Clearly my cervix is not to be trusted.

We talked quite a bit about what my restrictions are. I told him that I would like to go to my son’s first T-ball game and that I would like to accompany my daughter and my dad to her mommy-and-me type class. Naturally, I would take my trusty lawn chair and lay in it during both events. I would go straight to the car and then to the chair. Fancy received my questions, examined me, and said he would return with an answer once I was dressed.

He came back in and said no. No t-ball games, no mommy-and-me. No leaving the house until my next appointment in two weeks. When I get up, I can stay up for no longer than 20 minutes. At 32 weeks, we will reconsider the game plan. Four weeks of confinement.

He did give me clearance to go to a neighbor’s little girl’s birthday party. With my lawn chair. Ew, Evil Shadow Pregnancy is going to be at the party. Can’t go there now.

Since I last saw him, the day of the building evacuation, I’ve been wondering why Fancy Doc changed his tune from yeah-I-think-four-hours-of-bedrest-is-a-good-idea to fairly-strict-bedrest. Was he just agreeing with Partner Doc? Just to be on the safe side? Did he suddenly become a believer in bedrest? I asked these questions, not in so many words. The answer is basically that he was concerned by the funneling seen on the u/s during the contraction. I think seeing that, he really got that the cerclage was the only thing holding my cervix together. I got that weeks before because I can feel it. It feels like a bootlace is holding my cervix together and that the weight of the uterus, etc. is sitting right on it.

So no outings. I got a massage in my living room on my birthday. Naturally right when I got naked and on the table, the jackhammer began dismantling our backyard landing and stairs. The masseuse sent the guy away, confused. I should’ve warned the foreman but I foolishly thought they had enough quiet landscaping work for the morning.

The massage was pretty good. RM made a great dinner and we ate with the kids and then had two kinds of birthday cake. My kids are old enough to know that a true birthday cake has to have chocolate in it so we had chocolate and a lime-chiffon. Little bit of champagne. Yum.

Too bad I was my usual cranky self about my presents. RM went to the trouble of buying me some presents; after years of blowing off occasions, on both our parts, we are back to buying each other presents again. It’s a good thing too because I needed some presents this year. My dad got me a shovel. Yep, a shovel, like a big one that is used in one’s yard.

RM got me some fabulous chocolates, with nuts, a new booklight so I don’t go blind reading all night when I can’t sleep, and an array of maternity clothes. Unfortunately I was shocked by the price tags, $125 for a tank top that I will wear a few times and $95 for yoga pants. I can’t even leave my house. Maybe I’d wear the top a few times. NO WAY was I going to keep the pants and have them hemmed when my old navy pair is just fine. I am such a FREAK about stuff like this.

I got all worked up about the prices and the slim chance that I would get good use of the clothes AND pea-in-the-stupid-ass-pod’s COMPLETE lack of a return policy. You can exchange for store credit but no returns, no money-back, NEVER EVER. I still can’t believe it despite hearing it from RM that night and the saleslady the next morning.

So basically I was a jerk about the clothes and not at all gracious or appreciative. Nice example to set for my kids about “it’s the thought that counts.” Way to fucking go.

Then I felt like a big a-hole. RM worked so hard to make a nice dinner and give me some very thoughtful presents. I would have found the guilt completely intolerable but fortunately, as we were going to bed, I was able to surprise a defeated RM with his repaired dresser drawers. Two of his big, heavy drawers fall down when they are opened and I’d been secretly working on finding the parts and arranging for a repair. Furniture guy fixed them that afternoon. Whew. Not that that made up for my bad behavior.

It’s not easy being me.

This post was supposed to be about the big, snotty cry I had this morning when my little boy told me about baseball/t-ball opening day parade that I missed. A firetruck was mentioned and I promptly burst into tears. My 5½ year-old little guy rode in the back of a pick-up truck, in his adorable uniform, with his first ever team, and there were firetrucks and police cars, and they drove on the cutest little downtown street ever. Then all the players assembled on the field with their teams for the opening day ceremony. Then they ate donuts. My daughter ate the chocolate off her donut and then tried to exchange it, naturally, for another one. And I missed all of it. I HATE missing things. I have never even tried to conceive of missing something for one of my kids. I haven’t missed anything in his life. Brutal.

Don’t get me wrong, I have ZERO qualms about being on bedrest. I KNOW why we are doing this and I know that it will be worth it. It’s already worth it. I’ve held two dead babies. I’m a believer.

I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I just wasn’t prepared to feel like I am robbing peter to pay paul. I know that my kids aren’t nearly as upset about me missing things as I am. That’s good. If they were upset, I might need to call my therapist.

My son knows all too well why I need to be resting. My daughter goes bounding out the door to mommy (pop pop)-and-me and comes home with treats and a chubby fistful of flowers. They are both fine.

The dead babies had a much greater impact on all of us. And this is only temporary. Yeah, that’s it. And once the baby is born… holy shit, we’ll have a newborn. That sounds scary and oh so challenging. Three kids, recovering from bedrest and a C-section, I’ll be on my own, sleepless nights…. Ohmygod, somebody stop me. Stop me before I kill again. Hormones, I am playing the hormone card here. I am crazy. Mayor of crazytown crazy.