One "Endure to the End"? Yes Please!

I think time could take a tip or two from the movies.  A vagrant can become a polished socialite in under 3 minutes.  All it takes is a montage of scenes passing by with a lovely background song, then BAM!  All cleaned up and ready for the ball.  I could use myself one of those montages...
Brett and I have decided that bed rest is an endurance trial.  Not like patience.  You know when you get down on your knees, all humble and ready to grow and learn, and you do the dumbest thing you could do and pray for patience?  And then the rain starts falling, and the food starts flying, and the cats are shedding like mad and the breaks go out...

That's the thing with prayer: you get what you ask for.  Most of the time.

Anywho, back to endurance.  Yes, bed rest is an endurance trial.  I was thinking of all the pregnancy complications that we could be suffering with, this is the least dangerous.  In my mind.  I'm not in real danger (except the danger of going insane and getting horribly fat!) and the baby isn't in horrible danger (until these contractions start making progress.)  But in all reality, we're both healthy, we're both growing, we're both putting on fat every day.  And while my breathing decreases, hers increases.  We're at 25 weeks.  Every day gets us closer to the day that she can come safely.  And I can walk without wincing in pain.  I just have to endure to the end.

I've always been blessed with a foresight.  One day I'm going to appreciate all this time I've had down.  All this resting time.  All this alone time.  And that day is closer to me than I realize.  When she comes, life will go back to that crazy, hectic, patience testing way it was before.  When I had to do the dishes and the laundry and the vacuuming and other duties befitting my wifely status.  When endurance means only making it to the end of the day without losing my mind or any of my children.

In the meantime, I'm a slave to my body.  When it demands I go down, I go down.  I don't argue.  I don't fight it.  Okay, I do fight it.  But I think I've learned my lesson in that respect (the fabric store is just not worth going into near labor and wishing for death).  Nights are getting rougher and full of waking up and debating "Do I go in?  Do I tough it out?"  So far I've toughed it out.  I'm a warrior.  (I'm also really cheap, and if I can save us another doctors bill, I can be any warrior you want me to be, baby.)

And the best part of enduring to the end with this trial: I have a date.  A definite date.  That helps when I'm allotting sanity time slots...

Kelly Down