I am Such a Spaz

According to the ultrasound we had this morning, Nolan seems to be doing okay; he’s just not as heavy as he should be due to my complete inability to gain weight. I have an over-reactive metabolism, whoo-hoo! …Only not. Usually that deserves a whoo-hoo; now it’s a health risk. 

I’ve been told to start counting fetal movements at least once a day, which of course is freaking me out because he moves about 1/4 as much as he used to. Also nerve-wracking is the diminished strength of said movements: it’s no longer the kung-fu punches he once had, but a pitiful tap-tap-tapping.  Dude, you have enough room in there to move around, so what’s the deal?

To their credit, my doctors have learned from their earlier “YOU HAVE A MOLAR PREGNANCY — TIME TO PANIC IS NOW!!1″ mistake and have taken great pains to ensure I avoid extra therapy. “No, no, there’s nothing to worry about,” they coo in gentle, placating tones, “We’re just going to have to give you a 30 minute non-stress test every week and an ultrasound every other week. But he’s fine! Really!”

So it’s official: I’ve been put on modified bed rest, which entails my sitting around and eating as much as possible. They told me to try not to do anything active, even cleaning, riiiiiiight when my “nesting” instinct has started to gnaw at the back of my brain like a rabid weasel with OCD. (Seriously. Those blinds in the guest bedroom need to be cleaned! I don’t care if you can’t see the dust–I can!!)

…Anyone have any suggestions on how not to go crazy?