A Spa Day…

Yesterday, following a routine OB appointment {which thank the good lord, the children spent with the rock star nanny}, my docs directed me to spend a little downtime at the place where in {hopefully} a couple of months, I will deliver the Beeb. As a fourth time high-risk pregnant mama, this is not our first rodeo. Although I had not anticipated that yesterday would be the day it would happen, I knew it was pretty likely that, at some point on this gestational journey, I would need a little tune-up/check-in/extra looksie, so to speak. My blood pressure, as usual, does not seem to agree with this point in the pregnancy so I spent a few hours in labor and delivery being monitored for blood pressure and fetal movement. With initial pressure readings registering at 175/115, both my mid-wife and perinatologist not only agreed that they were a little unsettled about me driving home to Omaha but also, began throwing out words like seizure, stroke and heart attack {spoiler alert: none of this happened}. And mama don’t monkey with crazy talk. So to St. E’s I trotted for a brief little timeout. 

And you know what I determined? Maybe those billboards touting hospitals are right. Because when you have two kids and one in the oven, going to the hospital is basically equivalent to going to the spa. 

Don’t agree that given the right circumstances a hospital is more like a hoSPAtal? Here are mama Brehm’s top 5 reasons:

1. They immediately make you slip into something more comfortable. Okay…I realize that it’s actually a hospital gown and not a fluffy, terry robe but the immediate wardrobe change reminded me a bit of my last opportunity to have a facial, almost 9 months ago…which, btw, was glorious.

2. There is mood lighting. With all of the gadgets and gizmos in hospital rooms, there are many ways and levels at which one can choose to light the room. Because I had a slammin’ view, I opted for no lights but the options were a plenty. It created quite a serene environment.

3. The rooms are basically sound proof. Not sure if I actually was the only patient on labor and delivery but given the fact that I have a two and a four year old with me about 78% of the time, these were the quietest accommodations I’ve experienced in quite some time. 

4. They brought me snacks and water with crushed ice. Granted, the snack was packaged saltines. And the water was in a styrofoam cup. But it was basically the same as the cheese and fruit plate and lemon ice water you get post massage. Basically.

5. They wait on you hand and foot. The nurse came in multiple times to check on my positioning and continuously shoved pillow after pillow under my right side. And every time the monitors went off, they were at my beck and call. And they told me time and time again that they wanted my stay to be as pleasant as possible. I mean, where else can one find that? The spa.

Due to the fact that I felt 100% normal and I didn’t have to worry about who had the boys, my outpatient time was pretty much like a mini vacay. And here I thought I wouldn’t have a babymoon this time around. 

Mom and the Beeb were discharged on good behavior, avoided the word bedrest for now, were told to take it easier {same song, different verse} and we will keep on keepin’ on. And though my docs assure me that the writing is officially on the wall that this Beeb will not be staying in the oven for any longer than its sibs, we’re still holding out for no bedrest. And not planning a return visit to the spa until post-37 weeks.

Unless it’s the kind with the terry cloth robes, that is. Then, I say, bring it on.