If you are squeamish, please look away now. Similarly, if you don't want to know me in a kind of intimate gynacological way, STOP READING. Now, don't say I didn't warn you.
The baby has still not made an appearance. I am 40 weeks and six days pregnant today, which is somewhere between seven and eight on the frustration scale. T was nine days late. I keep being told that I'll have a sense of humour failure just before I go into labour. I don't like to keep reminding people that I don't have much of a sense of humour anyway (especially as it appears I'm managing to get away with it) but I do believe that by Sunday, should the little one not have made an appearance, I'll be lying on the floor, screeching toddler style and thumping my fists.
I remember that the NCT classes we took during my first pregnancy told us that women in the final stages of giving birth often claimed that they 'couldn't do it' and 'wanted to go home'. I distinctly remember trying out those words an hour or so after I'd arrived in hospital, in the hope that by some sort of midwife magic I'd end up being further along than I thought. I wasn't of course. I'm not sure whether the same reverse psychology would work with tantrums though? Maybe if I force one out it will, well, force the other one out too! Got to be worth a try.
In the mean time I am trying a variety of old wives tales to try and get my labour started. Curry? Check. Raspberry Leaf Tea to tone the uterus? Check. Evening Primrose Oil to soften the cervix? Check. Bouncing on the birthing ball to move the baby down into the correct position? Check. Realising it's impossible to browse the internet whilst doing so and falling off, more than once? Check. I have drawn the line at pineapple, mainly because you need to eat 27 whole ones within 20 minutes of them having fallen from the tree or something for the specific enzyme to have any effect, and there aren't any pineapple trees in Ramsbottom.
Yesterday it was time to get a bit more brutal, and after an appointment with the midwife I volunteered for a membrane sweep. To my disappointment this didn't mean her bursting into a verse of 'Chim chiminey, Chim chiminey, Chim chim cher-ee!' whilst Dick van Dyke kicked up his heels in the corner, but did involve a quick rummage about and some cervix related news. Not great. Despite the baby's head being very low (good sign) the route out is posterior and 'unfavourable' (bad sign) and I might have a bit of a wait yet.
On the plus side the baby seems very happy in there. She's wriggly, although less so as she runs out of room, with a lovely strong heartbeat. My blood pressure is normal, which is astounding frankly given the amount of time I've dedicated to stressing over WHY SHE HASN'T COME OUT YET.
If I manage to get past the weekend without having given birth, Monday promises another sweep plus acupuncture in an attempt to get the baby moving. In the mean time, pass me that ice-cream, and budge up, I need a nap.