Learning Latin: Placenta Previa

First we saw the awesome set of itsy bitsy fingers and toes on our 7-ounce wonder (see previous post). Then the ultrasound technician gave us something new to obsess about: placenta previa.

This means the placenta (definition: the inner lunchbox of food, air, and other assorted snacks I pack for Lyric 24/7) is way down at the bottom, blocking Lyric's exit route. That's bad interior design on my part. If the placenta doesn't scoot over (my doc seems to think it won't, but the nurse thinks it will...), that means a three-week-early c-section for me, so they can snatch Lyric out before she tries to leave on her own (i.e., "labor") and then discovers the door is jammed and freaks out.

It's a little scary, but about 1 in 200 women get it, so not so unusual that it concerns the doctor (much).

I dont have many qualms about the c-section...both the 'natural' and surgical methods of "delivery" (isn't that a funny word? Given the options, I choose Fed Ex) are pretty disturbing. After all, a human being is trying to live in, and then will be evicted from, my body. It's bizarre no matter which way you go about the transition. Can you picture yourself emerging from inside your mother's womb? I didn't think so. Seen Total Recall?


I am, however, restricted to a low-movement regimen (to keep the placenta from tearing away, thus killing us both). Specifically, I was told "No bouncing" allowed. (That means you, treadmill and elliptical machine).

And no sex. (That means you, Daddio).

And no sex-like reenactments. (Uh, that means me, alone, in the shower...no!).

What do all those restrictions really add up to? To start, my ass already has its own zip code. I eat just about whatever I want---translation: chocolate and beef in all their incarnations (tho they don't do well together, even in the same sentence). Yes, I've renounced my vegetarianism in lieu of almost total carnivorism.

But I'm definitely not "bouncing."

Where that leaves me: No exercise, little energy, little motivation for socialization, no desire for the hooch. Turns out I'm a happy recluse. Apparently, it was my Alter Ego who liked to drink large amounts of wine with large groups of people. So now, Alter Ego goes out alone (I have to assume...I never see her anymore), while I discover all TiVo has to offer, which is a lot (think quantity, not quality).

I don't even feel like reading about babies when I get home from work each day--but it will all be intuitive anyway, right?

Or maybe it will be a lot more learning of scary Latin terms.