As a set up for complete failure, I have decided to join NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month.) This could get really dull, except for the part where I give birth... hopefully.
Commence blogging:Now that my bedrest is winding down, I am starting to get very preoccupied with what life after bedrest will be. My impulse is that I will jump up, get dressed, have a beautiful brunch at my favorite restaurant and then walk clear across the city, reminding myself of everything that I have been missing for the last 13 weeks. But then I go downstairs to make a cup of tea and get winded on the steps. I have forgotten about the very real fact that I will have to recover from this extended period of rest. My body has been deteriorating day by day and recovery will be compounded the physical strain of birth - vaginal or section.
So how do you start slow when all you want to do is get up and run like hell? I think yesterday was a good start. I startred coming to the realization that just because I have been battling preterm labor for months now, I might not necessarily deliver early. So I have begun to make small steps to get up. I have been sitting up more, taking a little more time to tidy my room and am going downstairs more often to eat or make tea.
Last evening, I went downstairs to troll for a snack and became so saddened by the state of my house. Seems it is not just my body and mental state that have been deteriorating around me, but my actual, physical home. Although my mom's have been doing a great job to care for me and my kitchen in my absence, there is a kind of "lived in" quality and smell missing from the entire downstairs. The furniture is in its place, a blanket tossed casually over the back of the couch, but it just feels so cold and empty. There are no residual scents lingering from last nights culinary experiments, there are no socks tossed sloppily on the floor and there are cobbwebs (gasp) clinging to the leg of the couch. Everything feels so still, so dormant.
As I walked into the kitchen I started noticing little things. First off, while tidy, it is dirty. I love a monthly deep cleaning - scrub the stove top, wipe all the counters, clean around the faucet and backsplash. Well, that just isn't getting done. The saddest part was my dirty spice wrack. Upon closer inspection, my spices had accumulated a thick coating of sticky dirt and grime. I thought I was going to cry. It just spoke to the sheer inactivity of the kitchen, the center of the house, the warmth, the nourishment... Ugh. What kind of a mom doesn't have a warm and inviting kitchen (um, is that a terrible thing to say for the less culinary inclined)? I realize that not every home revolves around the kitchen. But in my world, a busy kitchen makes for a home that feels alive. And right now, my house feels dead.
So I cleaned the spice rack, wiped the counters and scrubbed the sink a bit - although the proper supplies were under the bathroom sink. So this morning I woke up, grabbed the ajax from under the sink and scrub like hell while my morning tea water comes to a boil. I am ready to start the process of standing, or walking, of being in my whole home again. I see the doctor this afternoon and plan to tell him that I am beginning to get up - not asking, telling. But I feel the time is right, and if I don't start now my recovery will be so cumbersome, I am not sure how I will get through it.
___________________
So how am I a Space Man?
Well, I found this article that compares the effects of bedrest to the effects of weightlessness. Astronauts suffer similar kinds of muscle atrophy, but also suffer from similar mental issues - namely isolation. If only my adventures in bed were nearly as interesting as viewing the earth from outerspace.
Here is me, at 35 weeks and 3 days as an Astronaut.
