The Bed Rest Chronicles: Week 6

I’m at 34 weeks now. Whew. Week six of bed rest has begun, and the end of the tunnel is faintly visible. The frustration is still hanging around, but added to that emotion is a fresh spattering of panic. Sure, I’m panicked about what it’s going to be like raising three kids, but that’s nothing new, really. No, I’m starting to panic about all the things that need to be done in the next few weeks, and how little I can do about it.

We’ve got gifts to buy, school supplies to organize, babysitting decisions to make (what do we do with the kids when I go into the hospital? If it’s a weekend we can wake up a neighbor in the middle of the night – if need be – to stay with the kids, but otherwise, do we take them with us? And what if I’m home alone with the kids? Do I call the ambulance, grab the cell phone, and call the parents on the way? I still haven’t packed a backpack of activities for the boys if they do come to the hospital; clearly they’ll have to be occupied if it takes too long for the grandparents to arrive (as is apt to happen since they now have to drive even farther than last time).

But my biggest concern right now is that we still haven’t purchased a minivan. And that we have two salesmen competing for our business. You see, my husband and I went to the dealership one day, and were helped by one guy. But before he could take us for a test drive, someone with an appointment showed up and he had to leave. So someone else came and took us on the test drive. So, given that scenario, who’s our salesman? The first guy has called us a couple times (leading to my husband having to tell him to back off), while the second guy has sent us a couple things in the mail. They’re competing. And I really wish we could use that to our advantage in terms of pricing, but I don’t know how that would play out. But, there’s really nothing I can do about it. I have to just wait until my husband has enough free time to go out and test drive the other van and decide. Because at this point, I don’t think I should do it.

Two more weeks, that’s all that’s necessarily left. Three weeks would be better, of course, and any more even better still, but two more weeks is the end of the tunnel. And still my novel isn’t written and my basket is filled with unread stories. The French novel I was hoping to read is still at chapter six, George Washington still isn’t president in his biography, and the three or four novels loaned to me still sit waiting for me.