Last week, you all had to listen to me moan about how tired I was. And lord knows, I was, and still am, just about as tired as I’ve ever been in my life. But even from that level of exhaustion, I knew better than to write down what I was really wishing for—permission to sit on my couch all day. Every day. Until this baby is born.
But on a particularly bad morning last week, when I happened to be sobbing my heart out, I may have inadvertently howled, “I just wanna stay hoooooooooome! I’m too TIIIRRRREEEDDDD to do this anymore!”
Yep, I put those words out in the universe.
And guess what? Now I am indeed stuck at home. My blood pressure is too high. And they can’t quite figure out why (obviously, they don’t know me well enough to know how thoroughly capable I am of stressing myself out to the point of illness).
Not only am I grounded, I have to spend the next 24 hours peeing into a jug. And, as an extra special treat, I get to get more blood taken tomorrow! Why? Well, because they need to make sure I’m not getting pre-eclampsia. Because that could kill me. And the baby.
Not that I’m stressing about that possibility or anything. Because, that, of course, would be counter productive. Wouldn’t it? Yes, yes it would. So, no need to think about it, right? Right. But why didn’t I get more life insurance when I had the chance?
What? Oh, sorry. Forgot you guys were still here. Excuse my inner dialog. Ahem.
Yeah, so I’m getting my couch time. But now that I’ve got it, I don’t want it. I just want to be happy, and healthy, and to have a happy, healthy baby—ten weeks from now.
Heck, forget happy. I wouldn’t even mind being monstrously grumpy and tired and achey and fat for another two and a half months, just as long as everything turns out okay.
And that, my friends, is why you should always be careful what you ask for. You never know when the universe might be listening.