In my pride, I haven’t really wanted to describe Real Life around our house. Not because it’s bad, but because I don’t like admitting how weak I am. Yet I do want to honor how strong and resilient these people I live with have been.

First, an explanation: if you asked my doctor about my status, I don’t know if he would define it as “bed rest.” I think he would say, “I drugged the snot out of her and whatever she managed to do in spite of that was fine.” I take round-the-clock medication at pretty high doses to keep contractions under control.

For comparison, if you can remember that far back, I’m taking twice the amount of medicine I took with Willa, and I WAS on bed rest with her.

This time, I have had the blessing of being “allowed” to do more things, but not really being “able.” My medicine pumps my heart extra hard, so I’m exhausted after a shower. I can’t focus on details and my lungs work extra hard to get oxygen. What this means is that out of a six hour dose, I have about one good hour to function.

That’s two hours a day.

The truth is, I often push through and get an extra hour of function, but the result is that I head immediately to bed either exhausted or contracting and have to wait until after the next dose of medicine to start all over again. Our lives are a series of “Mommy is up, Mommy is down, Oh, wait, she’s up again, No, strike that, she’s in her bed again.”

We have been so blessed with offers of help. And we’ve been fortunate that if I plan carefully and conserve my energy, I’ve been able to participate in church, evenings out, and even a trip or two. Our whole family has been able to stay together this time around (while I gestated Willa, our kids went to Grampaw’s house for Monday through Friday, two hours away). And we’ve even carried on with our schooling (not because I delight in suffering, but because we all want to enjoy the babymoon when Finn is born).

So here’s what a normal day looks like: Andrew gets the kids up and does breakfast with them. Assuming I’m feeling fine, I work my way through the showering process. Andrew starts working (yay for work at home daddies!) and once I’ve rested a bit from my shower, I get the two little girls dressed.

Then we start school. I can’t do the Tapestry reading aloud any more, so Sam and Ian take turns reading pages while I facilitate discussion. Sometimes, that’s all we make it through. Other times, we manage to keep going and I do spelling, grammar, math and phonics. If we make it through all of that, I’m usually in tears and begging to go back to bed.

Andrew takes over again (or the TV does) and then he does the lunch routine. I spend a good part of the afternoon in bed napping and resting my belly muscles. This allows me to get up for a few hours during the “witching hours,” although this isn’t always guaranteed. I try to at least think of a plan for dinner, but I’ve probably cooked less than 5 times. And I’m not always good at making decisions while medicated.

Andrew is very patient.

And I’m really glad we had a well-stocked freezer when this started.

On a very good night, I can sit and do dinner with the family, but I can’t fit comfortably at our table any more (we have benches), so we settle for me being nearby on a couch. Andrew handles all the food distribution and usually all of the clean-up. Sometimes, I have a better night and I can piddle around the kitchen.

By 7 pm, I’m D.O.N.E. and I head to my bed. Andrew gets the kids ready for bed and puts them all to sleep. Then he spends the rest of the evening catching up on work, doing chores, or checking things off his long list of projects. He has never been busier. Because I’m not very good about taking my medicine in the middle of the night, it is also his job to set the alarm and wake me up for my next dose.

Responsible Adult looks very sexy on this man.

The children have been so resilient. The boys have learned to make lunch, Ellen can swap loads of laundry, and they all help Andrew get the daily chores done. The older children understand much more of what is going on and have touched me with their compassion. They can all refill my water bottle and they like to “check on me” when I’m in my bed.

The kids come visit me in my room. Mira has even learned to crawl on top of my bed to say hi. They poke my belly and we talk about Finn. They ask me every morning how he is. They carry messages and bend over to look under couches for me. They pick things up that I drop and don’t complain when my answer to a request is “Ummm, I don’t know. Go ask Daddy.”

It has not been easy. I do not like being weak. I don’t like being incapable of thinking through a simple issue like “what’s for dinner” or “did I take my pills or not?” I don’t like leaving my husband to do all the work or letting my kids see me in pain.

Yet there is so much Beauty in this Chaos. So much love behind the service. Not just love for me, but love for Finn. We’re all working together for this little pot-roast-sized boy.

I’m weak. Others are strong.

And I suspect this is just the tip of the iceberg. The thought of seven kids is daunting. I feel totally incapable. But this isn’t the first time. When I am at my weakest, when I am face down, completely at a loss, God Is Big.

He is faithful. He flexes strong and I get to point to Him as the One who saves me from poop, crumbs, tears, frustration, overwhelming noise, and my own sin nature. (And that’s just in the first hours of the morning…)

So I lay in my bed, sip my water and marvel at baby kicks and the kindness of others. I try not to chafe at my weakness but to let those who are strong be stronger. And He who is Strongest will be my strength…

*Belly picture is two months old and not an accurate representation of my current size.

** Homeschool affiliate links included.

*** Please don’t misunderstand this post as complaining. We are So. Blessed. So grateful. I just really wanted to brag on my people and my Heavenly Father.