So against all the odds and despite the many, many threats of premature labour and then the signs that we would perhaps just barely make it to term, this baby is still inside mah belleh. We are now at exactly 38 weeks and 3 days, and I am doing my best to ignore the contractions, which remain constant and uncomfortable enough to be noticeable, but have clearly made no major difference, because I'm still walking around like a cowboy.
In the past week or so, I have tried a number of natural ways to stimulate labour, including dragging my husband to the bedroom at every possible opportunity. He didn't complain at first, but over the last couple of days has been making noises along the lines of feeling a bit used... Poor guy!
I've also attempted to gulp down a glass of water with a teaspoon of cayenne pepper mixed into it. I managed the first gulp and then gave it up for a bad joke. But just so you know, I do.not.do.spicy. Which means that for me to even consider trying cayenne pepper is an act of abject desperation.
I've gone for so many walks, it's not funny. But these walks invariably end up being waaay shorter than I feel they should be, because there are just too many other things going on at the same time. And because David seems to have developed an aversion to walking with me. And, being huge and round and emotionally needy right now, I tend to want him to come on these walks with me because I spend all day every day at home with the kids and I crave the adult company and the time for just the two of us to spend together. And I take issue with the fact that he can't be arsed. But okay, whatever... I do have my Walkman as an alternative.
I've tried bouncing on my exercise ball, eating til I can't eat any more (although that's more about my need to be stuffing my face than anything else)... and I don't know what else. And this here baby is still staying put.
And yesterday, I took the voucher I'd bought my gran for christmas for a reflexology massage and which she then gave back to me because she can't stand having her feet touched, and headed to the spa. Upon arrival, I was informed that I couldn't have a reflexology massage because it might cause me to go into labour. I managed to convince them that that would be a good thing and they eventually relented. But it was to no avail. (Actually, I believe that the therapist was especially gentle because she was terrified it might actually work.)
And so we wait. And wait. And wait some more. Because there is sweet bugger all else that we can do.