Shower-Less. In Every Sense Of The Word.

As if I needed another reason to lament my current state of bedrest.

I spoke with my OB today, and while we're all quite thrilled that my participation in all things sedentary has delayed any further cervical dilation and greatly reduced the number of Braxston Hicks contractions I experience in a day (well, that and the 12 gallons of water force down my gullet), she says that there's absolutely no way that I can participate in a "surprise" baby shower next weekend.

Yanno...if somebody were planning on throwing me a "surprise" shower next weekend.

I pleaded my case of essentially being carted to the facility and laid out on some sort of reclining apparatus like a modern-day Cleopatra, but she insisted that all the "excitement" and "crying" and "opening presents" would be counter-productive to our goal of keeping the babies all in utero 'n shit.

This woman obviously doesn't know me well enough to know that I don't exactly fall to pieces during traditional female rituals. My general motto when dealing with some sort of estrogen-soaked shower is, "the cake had better be good." Of course, with the hormones a-ragin' it's quite possible that the sight of adorable matching onesies might actually get me worked enough to go into pre-term labor.
So it's probably for the best.
But still, a missed opportunity for cake is a missed opportunity for cake.

Sad face.

So the wait continues.

Day 4 of bedrest has left me cranky and frustrated. The novelty of lying around has absolutely worn off, and I'm not yet accustomed to sitting around all day. It doesn't help that I've been waking up earlier and earlier every day (I was up and on the couch by 4:15 this morning), which makes the day that much longer and harder to bear.

But it could always be worse, no?
The babies are healthy.
I'm healthy.
I'm at home, and not in a hospital, still able to work and surrounded by people who care about me.

So what if showering is greatly frowned upon?
So what if the most exciting part of my day is when I find a Ghost Hunters marathon on TV?
So what if my dog partially released his anal glands on the couch and I spent the rest of the day forced to sit in close proximity to some sort of horrendous-smelling ass-nastyness until my husband came home and rescued me by washing the couch covers?

It's all good.

I'm sure when I look back on all of this, it'll be a brief little blip on my path to motherhood.

But in the meantime...my OB estimates that I have about 4 more weeks of this nonsense until the twins bust outta this joint. And I'll tell ya...4 weeks has never felt so long and so short at the same time. I'm completely unprepared for the twins, yet unable to do anything other than sit around for hours on end and think about how completely unprepared I am.

Like, I'll be browsing facebook, and I'm suddenly like, Oh my god, I don't even have SOCKS for these kids!! What kind of terrible mother doesn't even have SOCKS for her CHILDREN?!?!?

And then I panic and add "buy foot coverings for your kids, you negligent asshole" to the growing list of stuff that needs to get done in the next 4 weeks.
Right in between "make sure stroller fits in trunk (or buy a new car)" and "investigate stages of labor and delivery" (because I have absolutely no clue what to expect in that department, which is probably both a blessing and a curse at this point).

It's a little insane.
Okay, alotta insane.

But I'm sure mothers less prepared than me have successfully birthed and raised children.
Right?
Right?!?

Okay, enough with this.
I'm working myself into a frenzy over baby socks, which is a clear indication that I need a little Tastykake therapy.
And maybe a shower, to remind myself that I'm still human.

The dog's ass, however, is still a problem.

Any volunteers to sort out his anal glands?
I'll buy you some socks...