Week 40, Day 1 (Many miles to go before I slip)

Had another midwife checkup yesterday morning and according to St Robyn, we could go "any time between now and a week's time, maybe longer?".

Mmmhmm.. that helps.

Not.

It might even be longer, given that although the cervix is soft, it isn't the right shape yet and is as firmly shut as Fort Knox. Baby is also no longer tucked quite as deeply, and seems quite happy to stay put for some time yet. (This process of discovery hurt a LOT, btw, and disabused Wayne of any delusion that his wife is staunch about bearing pain. I yipped and yeowed like a meerkat, even to the point that Robyn asked if she should stop. No.. but I don't have to like this... Buy me dinner & flowers afterwards, will ya?)

Again, the 'clinic will decide if you should be induced after 12 days' discussion was had by all, much to my chagrin.

So what's WITH all these dummy runs, then? (We got down to six minutes apart on Wednesday night)

Ah.. apparently it's the uterus being stimulated by the herbal pills I'm taking, which is a good thing, and will mean it's nicely toned and fit for the real deal. So, it seems every night I've been host to my body being its own gym, and I should just ignore them until it gets to where I can't, and then probably (if I'm howling in pain) I might maybe kinda possibly be in labour.

Robyn says my lower back will be my barometer; she's predicting I'm one of those women who 'labours' in her back. Yeah, she might have a point there - the few really ***intense*** contractions have been back-based.

Bugger.. and here I was, smugly thinking "this isn't so bad, I can deal with this amount of torture'. Pah to me and my idiocy ;-)

I'm looking very well, which prompted me to ask "How the hell can I be looking well, when I feel like a beached whale, I've mysteriously put on two and a half bloody kilos, AND my feet are swelling!"

(A: The weight gain is just water, ref your feet and the warm weather. This will pass. You're not swollen anywhere you shouldn't be. Your eyes are clear and bright, your skin is a good colour and texture, you look the opposite of sickly, ergo you look well. Shut up and take the compliment.)

Blood pressure 136 over 70 (perfect for one so waddly), perfect stick test, perfect everything. Robyn was adamant there is nothing at all to be concerned about, even IF I'm fretting about going over term, this is all perfectly normal and STOP FUSSING!

Oh, and your baby is at least 4 kilos in weight now, and will probably make it to 4.2 or 4.5 kilos by the time he gets here. (Karl fumbles for cell phone's calculator functions, and works out that this means Braeden now weighs 8 3/4 lbs or thereabouts, and could climb as heavy as TEN POUNDS in the next week and a bit! Karl then faints..)

Apparently one thing my age does count against me is "elderly hard bones" which means my hips aren't quite as keen as a younger tart's when it comes to saying Ahhh. Robyn says my hips are definitely NOT opening up yet (really??? What's with all the creaky aches then?), and we might have to watch this space.. not in a good way.

Fat baby, late baby, hips won't open up easily.. oh for goodness sakes, book me in with surgery already!

Ah well.. on the bright side, if we take another week or so I can get so many MORE clients finished (amazing how many seem to keep coming out of the woodwork, like homeless woodlice marching across my desk in confusion). Which translates to more cash in bank, greater percentage targets met with IRD, and more time OFF after the birth!

Btw, the waters did not break during the service yesterday, but baby did kick and whallop pretty much right through the whole thing. Long tricky day, one way or another, but we got through it. God, I hate funerals. But at least we did not hear "How great Thou art" or "Amazing Grace", so that was a definite step up.

Denise's mad bad dog was at the service (prompting Wayne's Mum to ask if Cliff - her ex - would have his racehorses at his funeral, which caused me to quip "We can represent them by bringing in a couple of catfood tins". This then led to us quietly giggling about the madness that might ensue at either Wayne's or my funeral, given our out of control gaggle of animals.) Anyhoo, the dog wasn't as manic as usual, probably because he'd worn himself out leaping all over the mourners as they arrived.

There is nearly always a major calamity at a family funeral, and the near miss of the day was caused by the same unruly dog, who followed the coffin out behind the pallbearers. Wayne was one of the back pair, and had to do some quick shuffling to avoid being tipped on his head (coffin and all) as the great fat labrador-X charged between his knees, mid stride.

It was quite funny where I stood (way at the back, near the exit). Not one bit funny for poor Wayne though! Nice save, hon!