As the clock ticked over to three a.m. my body decided to wake me up. It does this now and has done for the last few weeks. It is another joy of the heavily pregnant person. Who doesn’t want to lie there wide awake in the middle of the night, when they should be resting, wondering if now might be the time that they go into labour, for long boring hour after another? Me, that’s who.
As this is my second pregnancy I foolishly assumed that this time around I would not be left waving goodbye to my due date with my baby still firmly lodged inside me, however as today is that day, it looks like I will. The enormous feeling of annoyance and frustration over this was not lost on me as I lay awake this morning.
I have tried the old wives tales. I ate a whole jar of jalapenos a few days ago. I ate chicken so spicy that it made my gums hurt. I very seriously considered eating the seven pineapples that I would need to eat to induce labour however the fire of acid indigestion that has replaced my digestive system made me reconsider, as that much pineapple may actually make me burst into flames. After an hour of lying in bed wondering how much lovely boyfriend would mind if I woke him in a sexy manner (as sexy as a giant pregnant woman can be anyway) I decided that he would probably be quite pleased about it and hopefully it would make our baby come out, which would cheer me right up so he would win all round. I seemed to have correctly judged my choice until our first born awoke, as he seems to whenever grown up cuddles are trying to happen and totally ruined any chance of completing our mission. He is now cuddled up in our bed with lovely boyfriend and I gave up on sleep all together around five and came down stairs to write this while the dogs all stare at me as if they are dying because I have decided that it is too early for them to have breakfast.
I have bounced so much on an exercise ball that I am surprised my thighs don’t look like a body builders. Raspberry leaf tea is horrible. I have tried to raise my levels of oxytocin during my long periods of alone time (wink wink, buzz buzz). I have used my breast pump to stimulate breast feeding. I drank a glass of red wine (some woman on mums net said that started her labour). I asked a good friend if she would come over and shout at my vagina (funnily enough she declined, although she said it might be fun, maybe now I am at my due date she might reconsider).
I would like to categorically state that old wives tales are nonsense. My children do not respond to any of these things. It has only resulted in me getting really annoyed and remaining uncomfortably mega pregnant. But just in case anyone else wants to suggest a pointless thing that won’t work to get her to come out, please don’t, I have tried it already, it didn’t work.
All the women that I know who had due dates around mine have given birth already. It is just me without the early baby. I am so bitter about this, I had worked out that based on my dates the hospital had wildly over estimated my due date anyway (by my dates I am already eleven days overdue). I can only surmise that I must have the comfiest uterus ever, maybe Peppa pig or Mr Tumble snuck in there without me noticing and my children have such a brilliant time that they just don’t want to leave.
Last time, although it was frustrating and I was scared of going to a point where they would try and induce me (only went nine days over so escaped that horror), I took it all pretty well, I wasn’t really suffering with too many horrible pregnancy symptoms so over all it worked out quite well in the end. This pregnancy has not come with the same easy and care free joys. I have been in agony with sciatic pain for the last two weeks, so much so that I can not take care of my toddler by myself. Which means that I am having to send him off for play dates all of the time so that I can hobble around by myself at home. I really miss him.
I am lonely and bored. I can’t hoover the stairs or take a dog for a walk unless I want to find myself lying down in pain, potentially in the street. I have gladly welcomed all of the “haven’t you had that baby yet?” phone calls that make most pregnant women want to murder people, just to have someone to talk to for a little while. I can no longer fit behind the steering wheel in my car so I am pretty much housebound. The only place that I have been in the last week in the small Tesco express by my house. The staff in there delight in telling me how horrendous I look and say each time that I leave that they hope to see me with a baby the next time I come in, which inevitably doesn’t happen. They are all really nice but I am becoming increasingly concerned that I may end up bludgeoning one of them to death with a bag of shopping soon.
I thought last week that I was going into labour. I called the labour line at four in the morning, I explained that I wasn’t having regular contractions yet, but as I had a very quick delivery with my first, I was giving them a heads up so that this time maybe someone would have filled up a birthing pool for me. She was lovely and very helpful. I asked if I was not in active labour by the next day if I could come to the hospital for a check up anyway, as the pain I am having to live in is destroying me. The answer was a firm no. Even though my bump is contracting and I can barely walk, I may not have any medical treatment outside of my fortnightly midwife appointments (next one this morning). I am going to throw myself on her mercy and beg for a membrane sweep today, which apparently on your second baby they don’t like to do until you are forty one weeks pregnant. I really hope that she takes pity on me and says yes.
I want to meet my baby so badly. I want to see what she looks like, I want to hold her in my arms. I am welcoming the agony of labour and potential vaginal destruction that may accompany her arrival into the world (I got off pretty lightly last time, I really hope I can be that lucky twice, but at this point I actually don’t care anymore). I am READY. I am so ready to not be pregnant anymore.
If you see me today and I don’t look happy, it is because I am using all of my strength to remain upright due to back pain and the feeling that there are weights up my ass, and that my baby is on the inside instead of the outside of me. Comments such as “Are you sure there is only one in there?” or “Not long now!” will be greeted with a swift punch to the throat. However if you want to come over and shout my baby out of me, with chocolate biscuits and cups of tea then feel free.