A year ago yesterday, we finally had that back yard cookout with our friends from out of town. The one we were supposed to have the day things went wrong. The doctors had said that I could walk outside (if it wasn't too hot) and lay out in my back yard. I wasn't to get up and down, but Steve had gotten a reclining lawn chair for me, and I was ready to have a little bit of a summer.
I decided that if I was going to be on bedrest for four months,
1. I was going to be as good as possible, at least until 24 weeks
2. I was going to have as much of a life as possible while still obeying rule one. It was healthier for me and baby.
This was my way of doing that.
Things were really really stable. Contractions were almost non-existent. The worst was over.
Steve's mom was even making plans to leave us for the weekend and see her mother. Steve could take care of the girls, and I was in no danger.
We were getting there. We were making this into a new "normal." I could do this for four months.
I had my baby later that week.