At 32 weeks of this pregnancy, I am on bed rest. For those of you that may think this is a luxury prescription filled with indulgent magazines and ice cream, I am here to correct that misconception. With 3 kids, 2 dogs, 1 husband, and a life, it is a sentence of sheer torture.

7:30 a.m.

The kids are off to school, and the 45 minutes I have spent packing lunches and backpacks have started the rhythmic contractions that earned me this punishment in the first place.

Since I cannot tolerate to watch the morning talk shows�3 minute segments of new things I should worry about and Meredith Vieira pointing out shortcomings I never knew I had�I drag the laptop into bed with me where Baby Diva still slumbers. I tend to my online life reading emails, posting comments, skimming headlines. If it weren�t for Anna Nicole Smith and the collective cast of The View, I�d be staring at a black screen.

8:03 am

I shower and dress. The temptation is to stay in my pajamas because I am not going anywhere nor expect visitors; but I prepare myself in case this is a day that I will end up at the doctor�s office or the hospital. I also try to trick my body through fashion that everything is normal.

8:30

Baby Diva wakes up and we share breakfast in bed. What should be a decadent event isn�t because I know I will spend the rest of the day imprinting Rice Krispie tattoos in crevices I didn�t have 6 months ago.

9:12

The rest of the morning is a jumble of letting dogs in and out, changing diapers and DVD�s, and the bed project de jour�some lame time-waster I can do from bed to make me feel I am still a contributing member of society. I did our taxes. I filled photo albums. I shopped online for the layette. I orchestrate life from the bedroom to the theme song of Dora the Explorer.

12:41

Lunchtime! I move upright to rummage through the leftovers and discover what redecorating efforts toddlers do while I am sewing a long-forgotten button on a shirt crookedly. That mural on the bathroom wall of lipstick and maple syrup is new.

1-2 p.m.

I watch The People�s Court. Why I watch this stupid show is well beyond my reasoning. But I do, and I think it is thinly veiled cry for help.

2:07

I try not to think about what would happen if I carried in a laundry basket. It seems the long afternoons amplify all of my maternal fears. As much as I despise the loss of my independence, I fear the newly-formed responsibility of ensuring a healthy baby 100 fold more. Pregnancy, what used to be a passive event�I have no conscious knowledge of how to generate a human liver�has now become quite active, ironically through non-activity.

The situation has degenerated, and so has my mood, I�m afraid to say. A couple of weeks ago on the day when I started to feel as though something wasn�t right, I made the kids dinner, fixed their lunches for the next day and calmly called the babysitter. I drove myself to the hospital and checked in, calling my husband at work on the way telling him to just wait before coming up�I knew the drill�fetal monitor for 2 hours before medication was given to stop the contractions. They were coming at 2-3 minutes apart at that point, but I still wasn�t scared�I am seasoned mother of almost 4! I know what every movement, pang, pain, and tightening means. And up until this moment, I could control every pang, pain, and tightening. That night I lost that super power, Kryptonite via I.V., and was forced to admit defeat to a 3 pound baby.

3:15

The boys return home from school by the gracious favor of a friend. They are trying so hard to be helpful, but I know they don�t understand the situation. I don�t look sick, why can�t I sit at baseball practice for 2 hours? It is impossible to explain the nuances between sitting and lying down, and bed rest and laziness. I feel like I�m failing them.

4:50-4:51

This is how much time I will spend worrying about how I must look after spending all day lying prone.

6:32

Time to pick out the take out. I have no cravings anymore�only for something bland and mild so I don�t have to combat heartburn all night.

7:20-9:30

I hear the miscellaneous sounds of water washing dishes, dog scolding, minor pleas and dish clanking and realize life is going on while I remain backstage, powerless to organize and soothe, which is what I used to do best. I try to lose the feeling of uselessness in a book, but some nights I end up reading the same paragraphs over and over while my husband pulls double duty on domesticity, and so I derive little pleasure from the pastime.

10:20

We rent a movie and start to discuss the plans and demands of the next day, but we end up falling asleep rather quickly. We never seem to discuss anything regarding the baby; perhaps with parenting experience comes a certain amount of earned superstition. There are no names picked out, no guesses on birthdate or gender. Just silent negotiations on buying more time.

Sleep will be short-lived for both of us as we seem to be up every couple of hours for different reasons. I will make arrangements in my mind�I need a sitter to pick up the dog from the Vet and find a ride for the boys� practices�meals, grocery lists for someone else to fill, and if I need anything picked up at the dry cleaners. Instead of dreaming of nonsensical stuff like Ryan Seacrest mowing the lawn in a blue sombrero, troubling nightmares mixed with intermittent spurts of infomercials will plague our thoughts all night long. We�ll wake up exhausted to begin the oxymoronic routine of bed rest which is anything but, once again.

©2007 Tracey Henry

Divamail me so I have something to do! Divamail@SuburbanDiva.com