Beached

So I figured I would take a turn from the doom and gloom of my last couple of postings. (My water BROKE! Baby is EARLY! Lungs are not READY!) and tell you all about how I have become a beached whale.

Well, if there were such a thing as a 130 pound beached whale, that is. It would be me.

I'm in this big, pretty hospital room, right smack in the middle. My left arm is attached to an IV pole at the side of my bed that is feeding me continuous antibiotics and fluids. I am wearing the monitors to track my contractions and the baby's heartrate, and the cords for that go off to the right. The blood pressure cuff on my arm also goes off to the right. Then, I'm wearing these squeezie things on my legs that are supposed to keep me from getting blood clots, and the cords for those go off the foot of the bed.

Now that I think about it, maybe I'm not beached. It's more like I'm hog tied.

Literally every limb is tied to something that reaches off into another direction. Do I even need to explain how hard it is to go to the bathroom? I sat in a dark room for twenty minutes just now because for some reason I couldn't bring myself to call the nurse to turn on a light. I was literally trying to jedi mind trick the light switch.

And I didn't even think it was weird.

Until now, of course. Now I'm realizing it sounds pretty darn weird.

And seriously? If only you could see how stylish I look right now. Man. Oh. Man. I would go into detail, but just describing the awesome one size fits all forest green socks that have tread on BOTH sides of them would use words that I just don't have right now.

It's intense.

Alright, I'm going to go order dinner now. I'm committing to ordering something besides Grilled Cheese, so I don't grow to hate it, but it's going to be tough. I don't deal well with change.

That might be the understatement of the year. Maybe that should be the tagline of my blog!