If I hadn’t received a due date – if I was living in a wooden shack somewhere in the 17th century – then last night is when my body would have told me, ‘OK. You’re late.’ Up until then I was feeling alright. I was embarrassed to receive looks and texts of concern, feeling a little like an imposter.
But now, now I’m feeling it. The pressure of the baby is immense. The discomfort in my groin, hips and pelvis is ever-increasing. It’s now almost impossible to get off the couch or out of the car without help (Mr Bun is being called on more and more often … I crouched down to unload groceries this weekend and he had to help me up … gawd knows what I’d have done if I was alone).
I had a second fetal monitoring session this AM, and all is looking normal – bub, heartrate, fluid levels – all good. Then Dr Spock examined me, and stripped my membranes. I BELLOWED. It was fah-reaking painful. Seriously, as she rummaged around down there I almost levitated off the table. Any longer and she would have been stripping me off the ceiling.
I laughed nervously afterwards, ‘Um, s’pose I need to work on my pain management skills, hey?’ She gave me side-eye which didn’t make me feel any better.
She said I’m not dilated at all, but my cervix has softened. The little membrane ‘sweep’ (such a bullshit term) she did may, but is unlikely to, get labour started. If not, we stick with the more likely plan which has me getting a dose of Prost.aglandin gel on Wednesday night, heading home, then back on the Oxy.tocin drop on Thursday morning.
In the meantime, I sit tight, nervously witter my way towards Wednesday night, and wonder if I may actually go into labour ahead of then. Not very motherly of me, but – faaark!