So, I totally got an iPhone. Thank you very much for your helpful comments. I am still not sold that it was a great idea (so expensive!), but I am trying to ease into it. And I think that once I have a bitty baby to photograph 8,000 times a day, I will really appreciate it.
Speaking of which…
Internet, I am appealing to your collective kind nature here:
Please tell me your (PG) “getting labor started” stories.
Because I am ready to get this labor started, and it’s just NOT STARTING. My dear friend Kristina even gave me her No-Fail 3 Step Process and it did not work. Okay, so I only managed two of the three steps, but STILL.
Anyway, I have tried all the methods. (Except I am not drinking castor oil or eating sardines.) And will probably CONTINUE to try all the methods because I have to do SOMETHING while this baby decides whether to show up. What I really want here is COMFORT, possibly humor if you have some to spare.
What I do NOT want are horror stories about being 45 weeks pregnant or being in labor for 108 hours or… anything else that is horrible.
NOR do I want admonishments to “let Nature take its course.” Because I AM. I am not at my doctor’s house, begging her to induce me. No, I am writing this cranky blog post. Nature. Course. I GET IT.
And yet I am tired, Internet. (I know, I will be tireder when the baby arrives. I should sleep now.) (HA.) My belly weighs about a thousand pounds. I wake up 89 times a night to visit the restroom or wonder excitedly whether I’m in labor and then pout glumly when I am NOT, AGAIN. I go to work every day and have to endure, about seven zillion times, “You’re still here?!?” and “What are you DOING here?” and “Where is that baby?!?” Everyone I know is suddenly keenly interested in texting me to find out whether I’ve had the kid or not. (Have not.)
My parents are arriving in the next couple of days, having taken off work specifically to be here for This Joyous Event, and having picked a week so far past my due date they were SURE that there would be an honest-to-goodness infant here when they arrived. IT WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE AN INFANT TO PRESENT THEM.
Also, it’s hot. And my everything is swollen. My toes are so fat, the toenails are digging into the toe meat of the toes that used to be safely out of reach.
Also, the weekly emails that I signed up for to tell me that the baby was the size of a kumquat* or a honeydew melon or whatever? THEY ARE NOW TELLING ME WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE A ONE-WEEK-OLD.
Please, tell me something comforting. Something that YOU, in my position, would have liked to hear.
In return, I am posting the first photos of myself ever in the history of this blog. It may be an inadequate payment, but this is all I have.
Me, at 21 weeks.
Me, at 35 weeks.
Me, at 41 weeks.
Actually, I don’t even need any Surefire Ways to Get Labor Started stories. I will take ANY stories that will distract me from the fact that there is no baby. ANY STORIES**.
* One week? The fruit the email compared the baby to was a durian fruit. Listen, I know what a durian fruit is because I’ve watched the Food Network for many years. But… it’s not a COMMON fruit. And, even though I happen to know what it IS, I still have never seen one in real life. It’s not something my local grocer puts out among the peaches and the mangoes. PICK A FRUIT EVERYBODY KNOWS, EMAIL. Also, one with less of a reputation for smelling and tasting like garbage flavored morning breath.
**As long as they aren’t horror stories about birth or labor or being overdue.