I think I can summarise this week by saying: being overdue suuuuuucks. You know what else sucks? Due dates.
Maternity leave (or more specifically, maternity leave without anything to be all maternal over) has got real old, real fast. I wrote a big long post here about all the stuff I’ve been doing and thinking this week, but it was so dull, even I got bored reading it.
In summary: I set myself the challenge of finishing the next WI Book Club book, “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt before the baby makes an appearance. Despite having a comically bad front cover, I’m actually really enjoying it. Alphamom suggests that to induce labour, start a project or a book that you have no way of finishing before the baby comes. Alright, so I’ve still got 50 pages to go, but I sure showed her!
I also heard that regular exercise helps move the baby in to an optimal position for birth. I started off with a daily 2-3 mile stomp around the park, and have worked up to a waddling 4 mile route. This has been effective in getting lots of sympathetic looks off people who are glad they’re not me, and not a lot else.
When I’ve not been reading or walking, I’ve been making the most of what mother nature gave me by resting my cuppa and my biscuits on my belly. There’s got to be some perks, right?
If we ignore a couple of hysterical episodes (wailing over (at the time) non-existent stretch marks and crying because I didn’t want to go to Centre Parcs spring to mind) I’ve been a lot more emotionally grounded these past 10 months than I ever thought I would be. That all changed last night, when I had what can only be described as the biggest wobbler known to man or beast. The rational part of my mind is fully aware that regardless of HOW it gets here, Baby R will be here by this time next week. It also understands that the average pregnancy is just over 41 weeks for first time mums in the UK (in the states, they seem to induce you as soon as you hit about 37 weeks). My rational brain also understands that there is a discrepancy over my due dates depending on whether you go with my LMP calculation, or the measurements at my 12 week scan. The irrational part of my brain is fed up with feeling the size of a tanker, of having a body and a set of hormones which seem completely out of my control, of my skin being so tight I can actually feel new stretch marks appearing and WHERE THE HELL IS MY BABY DAMMIT CAN WE NOT JUST GET ON WITH THIS ALREADY? Of course, I didn’t have the ability to put any of this in to words, so I pretty much sat and sobbed and muttered ‘the baby needs to come now’ over and over until I calmed down.
Neil has done a sterling job in giving me foot rubs and donuts and generally making my life easier. He also baked a cake which was so chocolatey, I almost died. If you’re on a diet, scroll past the picture below, it contains three different types of ganache, so you’re likely to put on weight just by looking directly at it. It was also his first time baking a cake, and judging by the number of times I was asked to give a detailed Masterchef-style breakdown of the cake’s finer points, he was pretty chuffed with himself too.
So, what does week 41 hold for me? Probably more of the same. I’m booked in to the hospital for monitoring on Wednesday, which is 40+12. If the trace comes back positive, I hope to have the option whether to be induced there and then, or whether I have a few more days to go in to labour naturally. I’m reserving judgement on which option to go with until I get there. On the one hand, my body has done such a bloody good job of growing this baby so far that I would like to put my trust in it to finish the job. On the other hand, I was told a few days ago that the baby was likely to weigh well over 9lbs already, and the longer it stays in there, the bigger it’s going to be. Neil was nearly 11lbs when he was born. Sod that for a packet of biscuits.
For the record, I fully intend for the photo below to be my very last bump shot of this pregnancy. If I’ve still got a bump to take a photo of by this time next week, you can be sure as hell I’ll be too grumpy to want to have a lasting record.