When I left the hospital last Thursday, my doctor told me to "get as much rest as possible." Then she went to prepare my discharge papers. In my mind, that phrase could mean one of two things.
First, it could mean: get as much rest as possible; live your life, play with your kids, make them breakfast, lunch, dinner, etc., but take it easy and put your feet up every chance you get.
Or it could mean: get as much rest as possible; do not do anything more than absolutely necessary. Confine yourself to your bed, get up only to use the restroom; no laughing, sneezing, coughing, or even thinking about doing anything fun.
Naturally I hoped she meant the first, but then the nurse came in with the discharge papers which clearly stated "bed rest," followed by an extensive list of prohibited activities.
So home to bed (or the couch) I went. And there I stayed. Tom did e v e r y t h i n g : he made breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks; changed diapers; cleaned up accidents; did the laundry, the dishes; swept, vacuumed, and in short did anything and everything that needed doing, and did it all with a smile on his face.
All while I sat on the couch and watched.
And felt useless.
Tuesday I had an appointment with Maternal Fetal Medicine. After the ultrasound I chatted with the doctor (like normal) and he reassured me that as long as my contraction were under control, I could go with the first definition. While I should still be spending a significant part of the day resting in a horizontal position, there was nothing wrong with being up and about and doing things.
Housework is still Tom's territory, and will be until these babies are born, and he's still been making dinner most nights, which I'm so grateful for, but it's nice to know I CAN. So in a week here when Tom actually has to go back to work, my kids won't die of neglect.
That's a reassuring thought.