After the doctor ordered me on bed rest my husband was suddenly thrust into the role of single parent, with one particularly whiny and large child at home. His routine used to be stable and unhurried: eat a bowl of cereal in the morning, shower and go to work, return home to his waiting dinner and (usually) clean house, then spend the evening relaxing in whatever fashion he chose.
Now in the mornings before work he dashes to the grocery store, returning with string cheese, fruit, and other easily accessible snacks, fills my water bottle, feeds the cat, feeds me, and then runs off to work as fast as he can. In the evenings he returns, tidies the house, and attempts to do the laundry while I holler in the background “Separate white, reds, and darks! Clean the lint trap before you start the dryer!” After getting my dinner he puts on his slippers and settles down with a small glass of bourbon to numb his brain while I complain about being off my feet.
As easy as it was to become irritated with him before (usually over nothing) I have managed to muster a huge amount of self-restraint and be genuinely thankful for him now. Although he has cleverly hidden all of my clothes in the wrong drawers so that I can no longer find them, at least he has washed and folded the laundry. Right now I can hear him crashing around the kitchen, breaking dishes as he puts them away in the wrong cupboards and I am thankful that, even though I have fewer dishes than before, the ones that remain are clean.
Bed rest puts a lot into perspective, and today I am reflecting on the fact that I married a kind man who just wants me to be comfortable and our baby to be healthy and full-term – and that is worth far more than my mobility.