Yep, still here. Toppling over, big as a house, very very preeeeegnant, but still here!
This waiting game is starting to drive me a little batty, but really, what can I do other than wait? There are so many old wives tales for trying to self-induce labor and while some of them are just downright scary sounding (anyone want to try a cocktail of Dr. Christopher’s B & B extract mixed with some Swiss Kriss laxative, followed by a raspberry leaf tea and castor oil chaser?…yeah, me neither), some of them are more of the harmless fun variety and fall under the ‘eh, wouldn’t hurt to try, what else am I gonna do, have a baby?’ category. So this week I’ve been kinda half-assing the fun/easy ones knowing damn well that this baby is actually going to come the second I give up all hope that she won’t in fact be accepting her high school diploma from my uterus. But hey, they’re worth a shot, right?
First up – sex. While Scott still finds this round pregnant body sexy (thank you, my love, I love you, muah, muah muah ), I honestly feel nothing less than awkward. So how exactly does a 39-weeker do the deed? Ah, that’s the fun part…I figured out that maneuvering my big strange frame to do what got me here in first place is rather like a game of Tetris. And the result? I actually ended up having contractions 3 minutes apart for almost an hour, though with no accompanying pain I didn’t get the sense that I was actually in labor. And good thing we didn’t head off to the hospital because…well…it’s 3 days later and she’s still in there.
Next up – tacos. When my mom told me that she had them for dinner the night she went into labor with one of us, you better believe we had Taco Bell that night. And just to be sure I hit all the bases and actually ate a bona fide labor-taco, I had a bunch of different kinds – chicken, steak, beef, and a few of Scott’s nachos just to be safe. And I’m here to report that the burning in my chest did nothing but make me debate whether or not to change baby’s name to Gerd. I knew I should have ordered the labor-chalupa.
My mom may have also mentioned that egg salad made her friend go into labor. And as I wiped the mayo from my mouth yesterday, I discovered that my office building’s cafeteria egg salad is not of the labor-inducing variety because, well, I’m still typing and she’s still chillin’ on mah bladder.
I’ve had tons of people tell me to go walking, so last Friday when I got home from work I made Scott accompany me around the block for a leisurely stroll. I figured if she came that night then I’d be a total believer…and if she didn’t, well then screw that theory, I wasn’t about to haul this 30-pound belly around the block again unless my butt was zipping down the street topping out at 4mph in a Hoveround with a bag of cheetos in my hand.
And all week, I’ve tried to be a little more active figuring that gravity at this point is my friend (when I’m not trying to pick something up that I dropped on the floor, of course). So this weekend I swept the leaves off our back deck and scrubbed the patio furniture….
…no baby…but the deck looks really nice.
I hauled my laundry up and down the 4 flights of stairs in the house instead of asking Scott to do it for me….
…and I think I heard the baby laughing at me.
I welcomed all the walks to and from the car at the doctor’s office and in the grocery store and through the work parking garage….
…and she’s still swingin’ from my ribs, rolling her eyes and humming a sweet little ditty about her cozy upside-down water world.
One of the tales that I refuse to try though is eating spicy food. Why you ask? It’s certainly not for fear of acid reflux because that’s a nightly given these days whether I’ve eaten my weight in jalapenos or not. It’s actually due to the fact that I’ve been told that the odds are really really good that I’ll poop while pushing out this baby. And guess what? Some poor sweet nurse is gonna have to come over to me bum and take care of that little mess hopefully so discreetly that I don’t even know it happened. And I will tell you this…if it has to happen, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it is as pleasant a situation as possible for anyone that needs to be involved. So for you my future nurse, whose duties (pun wholeheartedly intended) will be appreciated beyond belief, I won’t eat spicy foods from now until d-day because no one should have to deal with spicy labor poop if not necessary.
My doc appointment was pretty uneventful this week…I’m still sitting at 2cm dilated and baby is still as low as she’s going to get. I asked my doc what happens if my due date comes and goes with no baby and she said they won’t let me go past 41 weeks (oh yeah, my mom also said just uttering the word ‘induce’ was enough to bring on labor with one of us….induce. induce. innnn. duuuu. cccce.) So no matter what, in 2 weeks or less I know for a fact I will have had this baby. Thank you, Jesus, amen and hallelujah.
And your 39 week belly shot:
They say dark colors are slimming….I’m starting to think I’m the exception.
For past weeks, visit My Pregnancy Calendar
<– 38 weeks