I have complained about too much unwanted attention on my pregnancy. I said I wanted to be left alone.

Well, I've finally gotten what I wished for.

My doctor has placed me on bedrest, so my belly won't be receiving the rubs and gawks of onlookers anytime soon. As part of my house arrest, I am supposed to spend every day relaxing and reclining.

Once a week, I can actually leave the house to go to the doctor's office. I am allowed to shower, but otherwise it's all about the bed or couch for me.

At first, I got excited about the idea of at least going to see the doctor, but I quickly learned that a waiting room at a doctor's office and examining table are not even as fun as sitting in my cubicle at work.

When a few of my friends learned of my new prison sentence -- minus the crime -- they expressed jealousy.

The idea of a weekend on the couch can be appealing, but that's only if it's your idea. Being told not to leave the house is not a vacation.

It's a new form of frustration I've never experienced. I've been laid out when I'm sick, but then I didn't have the energy to do anything else. Now I have the energy but not the permission.

When I went to the hospital with a pregnancy complication and my doctor mentioned bedrest, I resisted. I thought there had to be another solution to whatever ailed me. When we found out the babies were fine, that my body was fine, just a little too ready to have these babies early, I still thought, "Anything but bedrest."

I had work to do, grad school to finish, a nursery to decorate and just my life to live. I thought my doctor was being overly cautious, throwing me in bed before getting all the results.

I also had to prove some people wrong about me. When I learned I was having twins, many negative know-it-alls assured me premature babies and bedrest were inevitable. Stubbornly, I told them it would never be me.

I would be like the many moms of multiples who deliver close to their due dates and don't miss a day of work. I would do this pregnancy without complications.

With each "My friend who had twins had the worst pregnancy ever," I became more resolute on my plan to keep my feet on the ground and continue pregnancy like other women do -- vertical during the day, horizontal at night.

I was wrong, and now I have to suck it up and ride with it.

There are even a few -- very few -- benefits to this stuck lifestyle. After years of trying to find creative, non-naggy ways to persuade my husband to help me around the house, I found the ultimate solution. Bedrest means no chores for me. Without me doing it, Jack has to step it up.

He wasn't thrilled about this. He didn't realize how much work I did around here. Even when the house looks messy, there is still a lot of behind-the-scenes housework getting done. Someone has to do the laundry, vacuum and dust-bust the fur balls.

I have never been perfect at it, but I always managed to fit it in -- 10 minutes before work, 10 minutes after, multitasking away.

After a few days of grumbling and eye rolling, Jack took a deep breath and accepted the challenge, instantly impressing me with his ability to clean. He would have liked me to believe that he didn't know how, but I now have proof that will come in very handy when I'm off the couch and we have two babies to take care of.

I would love to lend a hand. Even more, I'd love to just leave the house. Spring is on its way, and I can only watch it from my window. My dogs keep me company, but I feel guilty when their sad eyes encourage me to take them for a midday walk.

Luckily I am able to work from home and even finish my last semester of grad school. I have heard of women on bedrest who don't have TVs, so I am grateful to have DirecTV, Netflix, the Internet and my cell phone.

Despite sore hips from lying down and a crooked neck from trying not to strain, I am getting a lot of work done, but it's not the same as doing it all in person. Of course, that would mean dressing up but wearing makeup is often good for the soul, not just the face.

As the weeks pass, I fantasize about all that I can't have -- dinners at restaurants, pitchers of margaritas, long walks in the park. As soon as I start to lose myself in selfish dreams, I remember what I learned months ago as I dragged myself through morning sickness days: It's not about me.

My body is not mine anymore; it's my children's. For the next three months they have complete say over what happens inside and outside this vessel I have become.

I am sure I will moan and groan my way through the next several weeks at home, always asking my doctor for a reprieve. But if these months of boredom mean that my twins arrive closer to their due date, it's more than worth it.

I just hope there is at least one margarita waiting for me on the other end.

Laura Lewis Brown is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.