These women are suffering from tuberculosis. My lovely wife doesn’t have tuberculosis. Instead, hypertension. In fact, hypertension that has been set in from the effects of the pregnancy. Going into the pregnancy, we knew her blood pressure tended to ride a little high. I blame myself, really. I swear I have something to do with it. After about a couple of months in, her blood pressure hit a comfortable level. Now it’s back up.
No reason to concern at this point, but Dr. Miles “Kinda Blue” Davis commanded her to bed rest immediately on Thursday of last week. Take her out of the work place and essentially “become a couch potato” and do nothing. He said the result would probably give us a couple of more weeks out of the pregnancy. Ellison’s due on September 27th. Yes, that means she’ll be early. Not really worried about two weeks early. For one, we’re ready. Secondly, I think Ellison’s ready. Sure, we’d love to have her come out precisely on September 27th, but early deliveries are common. If my lovely wife’s blood pressure doesn’t ease down, it’ll be for the better of both of them.
And the bed rest is really no worry. We’ve heard the horror stories of bed rest lasting from two months to freaking seven months! Two weeks is mad doable.
Here comes the insensitive husband comment for the day…wait for it…I wouldn’t mind being pregnant if the doc told me to go ahead and quit work for two weeks and handed me a note that basically said “let Jeff go home and do nothing.” That was until today when it dawned on me after watching The Lovely Bones that two weeks can be a long damn time. After two days and thirty minutes of Susan Sarandon, I thought, “I gotta get the hell outta here.” Two weeks?! I can’t watch that much television. I can’t write that long. I can’t listen to that much music. I’d make a terrible pregnant lady. Couldn’t do it. I’d rather you make my bed rest nice and quick. Just break my ankles and get it over with, Annie.It’s just torturous. Yeah, hit me with the “just wait” comments. I get James Brown-itis. Get ants in my pants and I need to dance. Bed rest is horrible.
That’s why I’m at Roasters with Blake with my frame hunched over a laptop banging out this post right now. I need fresh air.
That being said, unless you completely missed in that first part because of my insensitive ranting, Ellison’s probably going to come in about two weeks. Can’t wait to meet her. Gon’ be great. Looks like it won’t be the typical “middle of the night covert operation.” Likely will be induced and we’ll get to do the awesome labor dance that we saw in the video. The only thing I’m concerned about at this point is Ellison’s health and Erin’s health equally. If they said we needed to do it today, I’d be ready.
In a completely unrelated note, I ran 18 miles this week. Top out at 19 next week and will sustain that for 23 weeks and then start training for a marathon on Memorial Day of next year which, when I cross the finish line, I will have run 1,000 miles in one year. And I cooked my first casserole this week. Mexican chicken and squash casserole. I’m working on my homemaking skills. My lovely wife reminds me that girls look up to their fathers as the example of what a real man is. I want Ellison to know that real men drink hoppy beer and cook damned good casseroles.
Sox will lose tonight. John Lackey looks like he’d make a great neighbor, but is not ready to rally up a pennant race.