Well, Hello There

Despite not leaving my room and otherwise truly behaving myself last weekend, my blood pressure at home had been high.  Thus, I didn't hold out much hope that my Monday follow-up appointment with my OB would end with anything other than a hospital visit.  I had my suitcase packed and had The Husband drive me to the appointment where the inevitable happened.

So I've been here, lying around with crappy internet access since Monday.  I've now been diagnosed with mild preeclampsia, and the doctors are certain that at some point either my blood pressure or the lab work will show something completely out of whack, and I'll have to deliver.  One OB estimates that I have another one to two weeks left, and my primary OB simply states that we will no longer let me go past 37 weeks.  I asked him the odds of that happening, and he said that a couple weeks ago, given my blood pressure readings, he would've given me about no chance.  But there's something magically relaxing about the hospital.  Although my bp readings haven't been "normal," they've been significantly lower than at home or at his office, so he thinks I very well could make it that long.  And if I do, the babies are practically guaranteed to go home with me.

So that means two more weeks of confinement to this room.  I try to work but sitting up is terrible for my bp, so I'm trying to work on my side.  And my sides hurt.  I miss my family who I only get to see every other day because this hospital is an hour away from home with no traffic -- during rush hour, fuhgetaboutigit.  And it takes forever to open an email, and sometimes, the internets don't work at all (hence the lack of blog posts despite my abundance of free time).

But again, mom is home holding down the fort and taking care of my boys when I'm not there, so I don't have much to worry about except for her flight back home on Tuesday.  I'm trying not to think about that.  I'm also trying not to think about being at home in my own bed, and at least getting to listen to Zachary's ramblings.  He had started sitting down at the bottom of the stairs and yelling up to me in my room to tell me about his day.  During the last such conversation, he was telling me about his new ambulance, and that there were no buttons on it.  When mom called him to eat, I could hear his little footsteps as he ran over to her to object and tell her, "I'm talking to mama!"  He ran back and continued to talk to me from the bottom of the stairs.

Over the weekend, I overheard this conversation between The Husband and Zachary:
Husband:  Do you want to go poo poo in the potty?
Zachary:  Yes!  Potty!
Zachary gets situated on the potty.  There are conversations.  There are at least 5 books read.  There's a little bit of silence, and then there's
Zachary:  Its. Not. Weerrrking!

The poo occurred about 10 minutes later in his diaper.  Oh well.

Okay, I know I've crammed a lot in here.  I'm going to try to attempt to connect to this more often so I don't need to write overwhelmingly long, boring posts.  Stay tuned.