Hello and greetings from 39 weeks. Oxytocin anyone?
Well, this is fun. Hormones go up, hormones go down. Indigestion goes up, aches go down. Waddle goes up, desire to do anything useful goes down. Ice cream consumption goes up, amount of time spent doing yoga goes down. I know that’s the wrong way around, but what can you do (what do you mean, stop eating ice cream and do more yoga? Pffft).
On Friday last week, Husbandito and I met up with another couple from our birth class for lunch and the intention of devouring one of these deep fried golden gaytimes (the rest of the menu at the Abercrombie is calorifically glorious too, although I’d maybe steer clear of the deep fried pizza unless you fancy a heart attack). What actually happened was that M lost her mucal plug during lunch and reconsidered the mild cramping she’d had earlier that morning as very possible contractions. We left them at around 2pm; by 8pm they had a totally too-adorable-for-his-own-good baby boy. Her due date was supposed to be the day before ours. WAY TO OVERACHIEVE, BABY BOY!
So that’s two newborns in one week. Ponyo, while fully engaged, seems very content where she is. Every morning Husbandito asks ‘any niggles?’ as this is what M had been saying during lunch – she was okay, just feeling ‘niggles’. We are now on niggle patrol. We both kind of expect there to be a different ‘feeling’ when the labour is imminent. So far all I feel is fat, and seeing as there is still theoretically a week to go – something I keep reminding Pon so as she doesn’t get complacent and overcook – I’m alright with it.
Hospital bag is all packed. Nothing particularly exciting has happened pregnancy-wise over the last week. In fact it has been refreshingly boring. There was one morning where I had a tiny freak out when I couldn’t feel Ponyo moving – usually 4am is her party time and she’d been still for a good couple of hours. A cold drink didn’t shift her, laying still didn’t shift her, moving around didn’t shift her, holding a cold bottle from the fridge against her back didn’t shift her, poking and prodding didn’t shift her. Just as I was on the cusp of waking up Husbandito, I tried some bongos on the butt and that did the trick. Little knees and elbows flared. I apologised for waking her up but told her not to scare me like that again if she could help it.
So we are waiting. Excitedly so. I have had no Braxton Hicks contractions throughout this pregnancy which, while normal, is a bit of a bummer I think. Extremely infrequently I have had a mild cramping reminiscent of what period pain used to feel like. That’s kind of wild, to think wow, I’ve not had a period for ten months and rather than be really concerned about it and have to live in hella pain, I’ve just forgotten they ever happened. I find myself wanting to embrace a cramp. I want the test, just a little taste, before it all kicks off. When M seemed to be in labour (cool as a cucumber, might I add), when I’ve dreamt about people in labour (never myself, conveniently), my first feeling is a pang of jealousy. Jealousy. You can’t fake that, or talk yourself into that. I know this is something I want and that is a great headspace to be in. The other day while washing the dishes I felt a trickle down the inside of my leg… Hmm. That was my first thought. Hmm. Not HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT or OMG MY WATERS HAVE GONE or CRAP SOMEBODY CALL SOMEBODY or WHAT THE HECKINS DO I DO NOW AAARRRRGH. Nope. It was a distinctly flippant that’s interesting. I dried off my hands and waddled with my knees together to the bathroom to deal with the situation, but there was no situation. Just some enthusiastic discharge. I put on a pad and monitored for the rest of the day, but it was nothing to write home about. My heart rate barely increased. I am so calm. I am so ready. You can’t fake that.