After yesterday’s fiasco with contractions every 3 minutes that stopped at the doctor’s office, the baby dropped and they agreed to induce me.

So, today is the day! I’m on my way to the hospital, and I’m having this baby today!

I’ll update when I come home, but for now, take comfort in knowing that he won’t actually stay inside me until he goes to college.

Apparently I’ve been in prodromal labor for weeks now. It’s gotten really active over the last 5 days. It’s this ridiculous starting and stopping of labor. Let me explain. The baby hasn’t dropped yet (even though I’m past 40 weeks!). But I keep having contractions. I’m not talking about Braxton-Hicks, I’m talking about real, start in the back radiate to the abdomen, last at least 30 seconds and require serious concentration and relaxation techniques to get through them. And they come every 6-8 minutes, then ever 4-5 minutes, gradually intensifying and getting longer and longer. Just like I’m actually in active labor. They don’t stop when I change positions like they would if it was false labor.

But they’re 100% unproductive. And eventually, they just stop. Out of the clear blue. They trick me. Every time. Like this morning. I was awakened with a really strong contraction around 4. And they kept coming. At first every 9 minutes, before long it was every 5 minutes, and they were nearly unbearable. I moved around, I tried relaxation, tried to sleep. Soon, I was convinced (and very happily so) that today would be the day. So I got up and showered, started putting toiletries in the hospital bag. And around 8:00, after 4 hours of being in what I would call labor, the contractions stopped.

And here I am, disappointed. Again. Apparently, says the midwife, it’s not unheard of for a woman’s body to kick-start labor, only to fail. And then keep trying. Again and again and again. For weeks on end. There’s something rather sadistic about that, at least as I see it. Maybe if the baby would drop I could go into active labor. But then, it might take active labor to get the baby to drop. There’s something disturbingly chicken-and-eggish about this. So now I ask, can someone please get my baby out? Or will he really be stuck there till college?

I’m officially past my due date. The baby is late.

It shouldn’t surprise me - Bean was 10 days late and who knows when Little Man would have come if I hadn’t been leaking fluid and necessitated an induction. But now I’m ridiculously pregnant. As in, I get looks of pity from strangers as I walk waddle around town in my frumpy end-of-the-pregnancy-so-this-is-all-I-can-wear clothes. And flip-flops. With bad hair and no makeup, because what’s the point?

I’ve stopped paying attention to the contractions. They were coming every 4 minutes for a while today. But then they stopped. Just like they always do. Maybe tomorrow. (As I’ve said every day for weeks now…) But with every passing day, the chances get better - or so I tell myself. This kid can’t stay in my belly forever. He’ll have to go to college one day…

Your maternity clothes don’t fit around the blessed girth of your belly.

You don’t remember the last time you had ankles.

Or the last time you saw your feet.

The receptionist at the doctor’s office knows your name. And medical record number.

Strangers don’t ask when you’re due - they only ask if it’s twins.

Friends routinely greet you with “You’re still pregnant?!”

You’ve moved your steering wheel back as far as it goes. And you don’t fit behind it.

You have more flip-flops than anyone should own because you have no hope of ever wearing real shoes again.

Your ring finger tan line is going away because it’s been that long since you’ve worn your wedding ring.

Your necklace is too small for your water-retaining neck.

You seriously consider hijacking a pharmaceutical truck and doping up on pitocin.

Certain personal hygiene tasks require amazing feats of acrobatics.

You lift heavy objects in hopes of hurting yourself (and being induced).

You can feel the water retained in your feet jiggle when you walk.

When your friend shares her good news that she’s pregnant you reply with “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Things that don’t work to evict a baby induce labor (yes, I’ve tried all of these in recent days):

• Jumping with your kids at the Jump Zone (one of those bounce house party places)
• Scalini’s eggplant parmesan (well, it worked for Bean, but not baby #3. And a 50/50 chance doesn’t do it for me.)
• Olive Garden’s eggplant parmesan
• Homemade chicken parmesan (chicken monterey-jack really, because I was out of parmesan) - they say the combination of basil and oregano helps… I beg to differ. After 3 nights in a row, it didn’t do squat.
• Spicy foods
• Walking. A lot.
• Jumping on a trampoline.
• Bouncing and rocking on a yoga ball.
• Pineapple - but if you eat a whole one all at once, it’ll make your tongue burn.
• Pressure points in your hands, legs, and feet
• Oxytocin and prostaglandins - as boosted by ‘certain activities’ (this is a G-rated blog…)
• Rolling my hips in circles - but it did provide plenty of entertainment for anyone who caught a glance of it.
• Spending time on my hands and knees on the floor, arching and rolling my back - ditto for the entertainment factor.
• Pushing down on my belly (entirely unscientific, but something keeps telling me that gravity needs a little help)

Anyone? Ideas? I’m not willing to do castor oil, and my midwife advised me not to try black or blue cohosh.

Actually, today was my personal deadline for delivery before my due (the baby’s actually due next Sunday). I have too much going on this week to be in the hospital in labor. Wednesday we see Liam’s neurosurgeon and Friday is Bean’s 4th birthday. So for now, I’m done with trying to induce myself. At this point I’m hoping the baby waits until next weekend. Of course, if he doesn’t come on Saturday I’ll be doing jumping jacks on the trampoline while eating spicy foods and pushing down on my belly with one hand while I use the other to push on pressure points and simultaneously rolling my hips in circles. It’ll be quite a sight to see.

I haven’t gone into labor yet, but last night I went here and had this:

I’ve called the doctor’s office every day since Liam’s MRI. Every day they’ve told me the same thing… The doctor is in surgery, someone will call you when he gets out of surgery. (I have a feeling he’s gotten out of surgery a few times since I started calling. Just a hunch.)

Today they called back. “It’s nothing to be alarmed about, but the doctor will need to discuss this with you in person.” And somehow, that shouldn’t be alarming. So again we wait. Until April 2nd. I’ve been having some pretty strong contractions since I got the phone call. But at this point I don’t know if they’re labor contractions, another bout of false labor, or just pure stress wrecking havoc on my body. But since my little false labor episode, I’m not letting contractions get my hopes up.

Now if only I can keep this baby’s birth from interfering with Little Man’s appointment with the neurosurgeon next week, and Bean’s birthday 2 days after that.

I woke up yesterday and grinned. I was having contractions every 6 minutes. Angels were singing in my bedroom. I got up and finished packing the diaper bag, and by then the contractions were coming every 5 minutes. Oh happy day!

But wouldn’t you know it? My very last contraction came as I walked through the door of the hospital. Yes, performance anxiety must have set in. It was declared to be false labor, and after several hours of monitoring and a handful of tests, I was sent home, mostly contraction-free.

Hopefully this is a sign that actual labor is imminent. But, I won’t complain if it waits another day - today is Liam’s MRI, and it would be awfully inconvenient for my water to break while my toddler is fully anesthetized.

… In my head, I turned my April 6th due date into a mental due date of March 9th (when I hit 36 weeks). Since then I’ve tried everything to get this baby to come out. And in my head, it seems entirely unfair that I’ve had to carry him for a full 37 weeks now, as if it’s something strange to carry a baby even one day past 36 weeks. I’m conveniently forgetting that I carried my first to 41 1/2 weeks. Why is it that all of a sudden 40 weeks seems like torture on a grand scale? I actually walked around the house last night after the kids were in bed muttering “dumb uterus… stupid womb…” Somewhere between 35 and 37 weeks, bitterness set in. I wonder if this is normal… And would a 4th pregnancy be even worse? (That is, if I should suffer temporary insanity and decide to get pregnant again)

The baby is stabbing me in the back. Quite literally.