this time last year i was in the hospital on bed rest. oh man, it sucked. i cried, i whined, i complained, and i pretty much threatened the nurses and docs. like seriously. i was a caged animal. or a prisoner in solitary. but lemme tell ya, right about now, i’d do anything to have my ass right back there.
for the most part, bed rest really does blow butt. the days seem endless, and the weeks go by soooo freaking slowly. and sorry, cedars sinai, but the food is repulsive. you’d think a stinkin’ hospital of all places would serve healthy grub. but nope. it was just cheap stuff, full of chemicals, preservatives and crap i’d never touch on the outside—exactly what you wanna eat when you’re pregnant, right? ugh.
it’s kinda like prison, well, at least what i know about it from netflix. ‘cept in some ways i think it’s worse. fine, there are no maternity ward gangs or crazy bitches stabbing you or trying to eff you in the shower. but in prison, you can at least hang with your peeps. in the hospital, you’re stuck all alone in your hideous, depressing room (the wallpaper is even grey…what is that?) and it’s boring as shit, especially on the days you don’t have any visitors. let’s be honest, there are only so many hours of bravo you can watch ‘til you go a lil nuts.
ok, so you get the idea. but in hindsight, i also didn’t appreciate the time i had. yes, the glorious time. i was too busy missing my stinks and pissed at the damn parasite-baby inside me causing me so much trouble. and don’t even get me started on my placenta and its stupid previa-ness. good lord, i was a mess.
but a year later, i wanna get knocked up just so i can go back again. why? cuz bed rest kinda rocks, too:
you can catch up sleep. i swear, my skin hasn’t looked that good in years, and i hadn’t even had botox.
you remember it’s the little things in life that matter…like bathroom privileges. cuz using a bed pan isn’t as fun as you might think. or having a nurse wipe for you. on another note, those nurses don’t make nearly enough money.
you learn to love the great outdoors. if you’re lucky, you get wheelchair privileges, so visitors can wheel your ass to the courtyard for 1 hour a day. and you appreciate every damn minute.
the nurses are awesome. some will come by just to chat, watch “bachelorette” with you (when she’s still on the clock, oops), and make your day by saying you’re her favorite inmate, i mean patient. i’m still friends with a couple of them on facebook (hi jen!).
you can join online support groups and “meet” some pretty cool gals. they’ll also make you feel like an a-hole cuz they’ve been in the hospital slammer for 3 months longer than you have.
you can watch an entire season of “breaking bad” in one day and no one gives a shit. the same goes for reading “US weekly,” facebook-ing, pinterest-ing, words-with-friends-ing or any other time suck.
you don’t have to go to any kids’ birthday parties. or anywhere else for that matter.
after 3 days off your feet, your new varicose veins will miraculously and thankfully disappear.
there are no tantrums. well, ‘cept for maybe your own.
you’re waited on hand and foot. need water? boom. or a pillow? you got it. or a giant blood clot removed from your hoo-ha? done. and all with a smile.
you can ask your friends to bring you dark chocolate with truffles, carryout from cafe gratitude, mango with chili pepper, your favorite lip balm or anything your little heart desires, and they’ll do it. with flowers on top.
the baby screaming in the next room isn’t yours.
you don’t need to make dinner. or scrounge around to find something halfway decent to pack in your kid’s lunch.
your husband’s dipshit friends will surprisingly visit you solo and yap for 3 hours about girlfriend troubles. you’ll love ‘em forever for it.
you can be a lazy piece of shit. you obviously have the perfect excuse to not work out. hell, you can’t even get outta bed to poop.
there’s no annoying husband snoring next to you every night. there’s no annoying husband, period.
you can order gluten-free pizza every night and not feel too guilty about it.
2 words: mesh panties. maybe i’m crazy, but i love ‘em.
you don’t give a rat’s ass if you have a bad hair day. i’m pretty sure i went 13 days without washing mine.
and the best part is you can get a freaking amazing baby at the end of it. or you can get a lil a-hole like mine. juuuust kidding. omg, it was so worth it and then some, but i think for our next baby (pleeeeeease, puddn?!?!), i’m gonna try to keep my dumb placenta outta the hospital. but no matter what, i’ll still wear the mesh panties.