The fact I am writing this probably tells you I’m not struggling with sleep deprivation, no leaking breasts, or at least no newborn child to snuggle up to. Where is the child????? HELLO???? I keep telling the little fecker it’s time. TIME. Don’t get greedy, my uterus has put up perfect conditions for the past 40 weeks but it doesn’t pay to hang around passed the welcome date. I am in a bit of flap despite only being 4 days over due. I know I’m a loony but I’m fearing the medical eviction notice which will be served in about a weeks time if there is diddly-squat. I experienced an induction with Little Vick and I would do anything to avoid it again. Probably even start running bare footed and wombat like up the highway but you and I both know I wouldn’t get very far without a potential prolapse.
I’m trying so hard to not get too anxious about the WHEN but it’s proving to be a bit tricky. I’m getting that naggy I wanna know or is that something thought constantly in my head just like when I was waiting to find out if I was actually pregnant. So here I am waiting again at the opposite end of it all. It’s the pits really. It eats away at you. The days suddenly seem so much longer. Activities and jobs seem boring and I’ve developed a serious case of the whatev’s.
I’ve had a few restless nights because my mind has been playing cruel tricks on me. I’ve had moments of complete flatness. Blueness. Not my usual style (hormones yes?), I have been saying to myself why do my babies like to hold on??? What is it that makes me so good at carrying babies that I want to keep carrying them… for like, ever. I was crucifying myself about this the night before I was even due. I’m a moron. Complete and utter nutter. That anxiety is probably exactly what is keeping that little baby in there holding tight.
Needless to say, I’ve been displaying a bit of a punky attitude with all these thoughts and emotions and hormones swirling around. Mr Vick is running a gauntlet trying not get stuck or in trouble too much. So far, he hasn’t filed for divorce despite the I’m full term and I can be moody if I want to being thrown around. No man should think his sensitivities will get considered at such a time surely?
It’s not all bad though. We have been happy little homing pigeons too the past week and it’s lovely to spend that time so insular with our little boy who’s very existence is also going to change dramatically within moments of the babies arrival. I’ve been noticing all his beautiful little ways. Trying to play a little bit more with him. Laughing with him more. Snuggling more. He deserves it. He is divine. I guess that’s what I’m doing all this for right? To get another delicious little person? I have to keep telling myself this when my mind flickers to visuals of labour trauma which includes an image of me splitting in half delivering this precious little person. I know, I’m being dramatic aren’t I? But I think I’m a tinsy bit scared…
With that said I have been trying all the usual old house-wife tricks of the trade to get things moving. I’m such a skeptic though. They’re all such a heap of hooey, but do you think I can shake the idea from Mr Vick’s head that nooky is going to bring the baby on?? It’s a wives tale that I suspect was actually conveniently mustered up by a husband because every woman knows nooky when you’re 40 weeks knocked up is the most awkward, un-sexy and un-porno thing EVER.
I’ve tried curries, walking, massage, even gotten some Clary Sage oil out… nothing. Nuda. Zilch. I was hoping through my reading that there would be a recommendation for junk food for inducing labour, ‘cos then I’d totally have my legs up in the air. Last night I had Mint slice biscuits, M & M’s, salt & vinegar chips and Ginger Ale for my telly viewing. Zippo on finding any reading proof on that however. I think there was only mention of double chins.
Physically I’m more and more like a 99 year old. The pressure in my bum at times creates almost a numbing sensation… (and yet nothing??). When I try and roll over at night I have to heave my stomach up and slam it over. I grunt and get puffed. I actually get puffed from rolling over in bed. See, time to evict the baby before my lungs collapse!
Not many preggies get excited about this, but I’ve developed some cute little Braxton Hicks. Something I didn’t experience with pregnancy #1. I find them endearing. Some more proof I’m a crazy lady I know, but they suggest hope that things are warming up and so I don’t mind Mr Hicks hanging about in my belly. This time too my vanity must have departed because I don’t seem to mind the big spider stretch marks which have developed across my spanning belly. With Little Vick I was uber conscious of them and diligently smearing cream on the bump twice a day. I was afraid of having stretch marks and felt fortunate to only got a few cute ones low at the very end. This time it’s a complete stretch mark blow out. I have that stretched to the beejebers skin now and I’m OK with it. It’s a mark of my bodies triumphs. I have a sense of pride about them.
Tomorrow I head to the hospital to check up on this naughty little bubba. They will make sure I still have a devoted placenta and enough fluid to keep the baby swimming a bit longer. I am also quite certain they will start poking around in there trying to irritate that cervix which seems to wanna hold tight. THEN there might be some real action. Please feel free to barrack for Baby Vick’s arrival, pronto. Come on, let me hear you say it: EVICT THE BABY! EVICT THE BABY! EVICT THE BABY! EVICT THE BABY!
If you’ve been a baby carrier, did you go over?
Thanks to Essentially Jess and her #IBOT linky party for me letting join in