Sometimes, when you're sitting around and chatting, you say things which of course, you don't mean literally. For example, "Slap my belly with a soggy cucumber and call me Terry McGee, I wish I had my own personal rain cloud so I could shower whenever I liked".

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 40+2 days
Month: 10
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 38 weeks
Time to Go: And already that's not even funny any more.
Size: Roughly the size of the bull in the field opposite my house
Time til potential induction: 1 day. Hm.

And still going strong. Though I did have a Super-Poop yesterday, followed by contractions that were definitely worth writing home about. I would have been more excited though, had they been getting closer together rather than the sporadic random timing with which they presented themselves. Love to keep me guessing eh?? Thanks!

And of course, visit from AMW yesterday, who looked at me a little disbelievingly at the fact that I HADN'T GIVEN BIRTH YET. Yes lady, I'm still preggo, come join the party! She did, however, announce that the head is now 1/5 engaged (which basically means that it's almost rammed into my crotch and ready to go). As a subsequent pregnancy, this can only be good news given that I'm told on a DAILY basis that subsequent babies don't engage until the last minute.

Of course, one may need to define the meaning of "minute" to an unborn, cos clearly, some just don't get it.

I obviously tried not to get excited last night, and found that it was actually quite easy to not get excited to be honest. I'm quite cynical at the moment about it all, and half expect to go into labour AFTER tomorrows meeting with the consultant. Which is fine; I know I went 3 days over with Noah, and according to the due dates at the hospital I am currently 40+1. Which is fine. If we were to go RIGHT back and go by "real" dates, I don't think I'd actually be due until next Wednesday (which is even funnier and something not worth thinking about right now).

I guess it's time to start walking. Cos you know, SPD + walking = AWESOME.

Incidentally, people, I WILL update when I know I'm on labour I can assure you. You're welcome to follow my updates on twitter which will probably give the most up-to-date commentary I can do, or check my facebook page if you're there and I'll try to do the same there. Trust me, I don't think I'm going to suddenly forget to announce I'm in labour and/or delivered a 27lb infant. Unless I'm truly drugged up of course.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 40+1 day
Month: 10
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 38 weeks
Time to Go: TODAY. Not tomorrow, TODAY.
Size: Bigger than me. Figure that out.
Time til potential induction: 2 days. Meh.

Sooooo....it turns out you REALLY can't predict these things, huh?

Yes here I am, at 40 weeks and still pregnant. I'm now on my 2nd due date (the one that THEY use, even though they're only a day apart). As far as I know, there is NO sign of this one coming any time soon. Sure, I've had ridiculous amounts of BH, I'm all pooped out I think for the first time (in a long time) I can say I'm all empty, I'm restless as hell and pretty much no longer have an appetite.

Most days are spent pacing up and down like some crazy restless woman, trying really hard not to feel sick all the time. I often feel like I'm about to lose my marbles and I've ONLY JUST hit due dates. SHEEESH.

So what happens now? Well AMW is coming this afternoon, where she might actually ask me why I haven't had the baby yet (albeit jokingly...I hope...) and then ask how I feel about Friday's induction.

How do I feel about Friday's induction?

I danno. I don't want an induction and will probably decline. They'll probably want to do a sweep *shudder* because I know they're shitting themselves even more than me about the size of this baby. But my reason for declining is logical from my point of view; if my body isn't yet ready to push out a colossal baby and they started it anyway, would that not lead to more trouble? Do we not see a C-Section on the horizon?

Sure I'm uncomfortable, and appear to have developed Pregnancy Tourettes (randomly screaming "GET OUT" and "NOW, BITCH", accompanied by the odd "DAMN YOU, CROTCH"), and SPD has reached hilarious new heights (current record - 15 minutes to maneuver myself out of bed), and, you know, I have no sanity left, but I have to remember to be very realistic about what my body is about to go through.

Even at this stage I see no point in downing pineapples/curries or even pineapple curries (lmao people, ya'll funny), or indulging in some seriously uncomfortable sex (er yes hi, have you people SEEN me?), and even bouncing on the ball doesn't seem to do much. T.O.O. is (apparently) 2/5 engaged and very rarely lies on my left (like it's supposed to).

Ahw crap, and I thought Noah was defiant, this one is going to be a right little shit, for sure.

Sadly though, I'm prepared for the worst. I'm expecting to go into labour sometime next week, and end up having a section. Just cos, you know, The Law of Sod. which is a real shame. But we'll see.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 39+4 days
Month: 10
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 38 weeks
Time to Go: 4 Days (We'll see. Heh.)
Size: Too big to sneeze out
Time til potential induction: 6 days (yep, you read right)

It's been a bit of a turmoil these last few weeks. I reached breaking point, as most of you clearly saw (for which I would apologise, but I'm not going to be apologetic for being honest.), and there are so only so many different stories you can take from your "Medical Caregivers" (that title always makes me snort).

Thursday's scan showed the fluid had increased. Again. Up from 9.4 to just below 11cm. Heyyyy ain't that just great? Yeaaahh.... What REALLY made me laugh was when we came out of the room, Mme Sonographer asked us to hang around for a few minutes, but didn't say why. Turns out she had to go find a consultant to see if we needed to stay in Labour & Delivery for whatever reason. It's probably just as well she didn't say why before she went; she'd have found me running (walking fast/hobbling/waddling) out to the car park as fast as possible.

Friday's consultant appointment had me on edge. D and I packed the bags in the car, pretty much expecting to not be allowed home for monitoring/internals/inductions/big gaping baby heads emerging everywhere...

Ok maybe not that much, but certainly to be kept in for monitoring. We saw the Consultant who claimed actually I don't have Polyhydramnios but wanted to keep an eye but everything's ok but we should be concerned - Dude! Dude. Like, wtf? Is there any chance the medical profession could agree on something and stop playing mind-fuck games with me?

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 37+3 days
Month: 9
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 36 weeks
Time to Go: 19 days
Size: Smaller than your mother.


You all knew it was coming. You all said "at the end of the day, blah blah blah, healthy mom healthy baby, yaddah yaddah". You all sat there thinking how nuts I must be trying to deliver another big baby at home. I'll even bet some of you wondered what point I was trying to make, or what was I trying to prove.

Maybe I'm just very paranoid (which is very true).

But as of today, I have given up. Scan yesterday, showed baby measuring about 9lbs in weight, with potential to gain a pound a week, but could go 20% either way. Fluid levels down from 11 point something to 9.4cm, so they're dropping and things starting to look good.

So whaddup?

They're all too scared. They actually threw a million scare stories at me during today's appointment. Mr Consultant actually said if I decided to stay at home, then he would pretty much not be involved in the delivery, and would not advocate me staying at home. Yes a MW would be in attendance if I called in, they would have to be, they have no choice (by law). But "if something were to go wrong, I would take full responsibility and no body else could be to blame".

"But of course, Mrs M, the decision at the end of the day is yours!"

I had no point to prove. I had no point to make. I just wanted to deliver my baby in an environment that I knew I would be happy in, that I would be comfortable with. Without fear of what would the medical profession would try to do if they got too close.

I am SO fully aware of all the dangers. I am also fully aware of the dangers that could happen with ANY. OTHER. BIRTH. He even said himself that shoulder dystocia can happen in a birth with a "normal" size baby. But once again, they're just pointing out as many of the factors as possible, including the fact that my fluid levels are still too high. So what would be REALLY great is if people can just be in agreement with what the hell is normal and what isn't. I can't cope being told one week that 11cm is acceptable and shouldn't be concerned until we got to 24cm. And then the following week, well actually 9.4cm is still too high, and even though the level has dropped, that's still not good enough.

So you know what? They win. This is a fight I can't keep up anymore. I'm frustrated, I'm tired. If I go into labour I'll go in to hospital. I don't want to, but after all they've freaked me out with, how the hell am I supposed to happily and comfortably give birth at home?? Christ, today when I went for my appointment, ALL the staff knew who I was and why I was there. Now I'm thinking that can't always be a good thing.

So I give up. I'm gutted. Actually, I'm more pissed off than I am upset. Pissed off because I didn't want it to be this way. I didn't want this birth to be so tainted. Maybe I should have just given up the fight earlier, but how can I do that when I'm told so many different things every time I walk in there?

They want to do another liqor scan at 39wks, do an internal and if nothing's happening, they want to induce. Pah. I think they may have to catch me first. I can only thank god that he refuses to do C/S, and has no intention of inducing unless absolutely necessary. I can't even begin to say how grateful I am for that. But that comes on the back of no home birth, and I can't even have a water birth in hospital because of the fluid crap thing. I'm starting to feel like everything is being taken away ("the decision is yours Mrs M...") and that quite simply, I'm just not going to enjoy this birth at all. I know I can't have everything. But even the few things I wanted have now gone.

I'm really fucked off. Like, they can't even give me straight answers, they can't prove anything, they don't know anything for sure and they've made me feel like crap in the process.

So that's that. I pretty much hope I go into labour before 39 weeks because I cannot, just CAN NOT face induction. And yes I KNOW that people have been induced and it's gone great. Good for you. But that's not what I want. I also understand that babies need to cook for as long as necessary. I can assure you I know that too. Remember my own mother is a Midwife. So is D's mother. But understand that I do not want medical intervention.

I don't like the way this has turned out. But I know at this point now, there's not a fat lot I can do. That's fair enough. I understand I need to go in. I understand I pretty much have no choice. My hands feel like they've been tied somehow...but you know what? I'll deliver this baby, and I don't care what anyone says, it's going to have to take one SERIOUS frigging situation before they have to intervene. There will be no C/S. There will be no medical intervention.

Any intervention will be my own doing. And it'll probably be in the form of large quantities of pineapples and fair amount of power walking. Possibly with the odd curry thrown in. Now if you'll excuse me, these Braxton Hicks are driving me batshit and I have a Poopgate appointment with the bathroom.

Have you all been waiting anxiously on the edge of your seats? Are you all totally wrapped up in my life and Noah's, wondering what the outcome was? Can you barely contain yourselves?

Ok maybe not, but I'll let you know what's going on anyway.

We have had 2, count them - TWO - nights of cough-less sleep. At this point, I would like to exclaim that Julie, is a freaking LEGEND. We've left it at just having the radiator turned down, as she advised, and have given up with everything else. Last night he was so quiet, I still couldn't sleep thinking he'd stopped breathing or something, I'd never heard it so quiet.

HUZZAH!!

I'm still not feeling too cocky or smug, as I know it's still early days. And of course, we now have another increase in F.O.F, which I had hoped was done and dusted. It would seem not, to the point where you reeeeeeally have to wipe it straight away, lest you should have your furniture coated in it.

Think Ghostbusters where that Slimer ghost plasters everything with "ectoplasm", aka, snot.

However, he is now in his cot, having coughed for all of 3 minutes (which I'll allow) and has been quiet since.

I'm also very pleased to note that Poopgate no longer seems to be an issue, and if I wasn't feeling so smug about that I would happily mail the rest of my Fibresure to Soapbox Diva. But I'm not that smug.

And since I'm reporting news, I'm overly pleased to announce that my crotch has officially fallen apart. The SPD is back with a vengeance, and I have sciatic pains in both hips and my right butt cheek. I can no longer sleep on my left for more than 20 minutes at a time (great for getting plenty of sleep HAH) and I walk like I've been kicked in the crotch. Which, I suspect, is exactly what SPD must be like.

You know what's really gross? Is to be walking around, carrying your 72lb child, and your bump, with a feeling of your pelvis and hips all having dislocated themselves from each other. It's a curious feeling, I don't think I like it very much. I kind of expect my leg to fall off or something; you remember those dolls as a kid where you could pull the leg off really easily, but it was a bitch to get it back on again?

..no?

...

Uh, ok.

*Moving swiftly on*

I've decided to dye my hair. I'm using Lush Henna in a strange attempt to "play it safe", in that I didn't want to use chemicals in my hair. So yeah, I went for Caca Rouge, the brightest one. My logic is that my hair is black and therefore colour will barely show up. I'm sat here with it gunked on my head, wrapped in cling film, a t-shirt and a towel.

The best part?

Me (to D): You know, wiping this stuff out of my ears looks like wiping my ass.

I'm so classy.

Took him to the docs today, told it could be a viral infection, he may have an ear infection, here's a prescription but don't "cash it in" yet. Ride the wave, it'll last about 4 weeks.

Due Date: 04/21/2009

This arrived a few days ago:



It's supposedly a Baby Bjorn carrier, rated very highly. I decided it's a questionable piece of bondage from some people with a twisted sense of humour. I was also considerably annoyed by the smug looking "mother and baby" on the cover of the box, modelling it so beautifully and so effortlessly. I think it was about three days before I decided to embrace the virgin pureness and breast enhancing/figure hugging straps. Have to admit, it's actually pretty good, and Noah doesn't seem to be at all bothered. Mind you, like he's ever bothered about anything.

Needless to say, the Poopgate Scandal continues, and it seems to be spreading amongst close circles. After initiating a fabulous Code Brown at a friends house a few weeks ago (sorry K McG...), Noah decided it was time to let Nana know that behind that adorable cute face, hides a deep dark secret.

Having collected Nana from a friend’s house because she was ill, Noah and I took her home, where Noah had a feed and a nappy change. Followed by another almighty Code Brown. I wonder perhaps if I had not been so stupid as to say "Yes he's been great lately, though he hasn't filled his nappy in a while so I expect we'll day with that in a day or two", then he may not have taken that as his cue to commence the Old Man Grunting and that wonderful bubbling, gurgling sound as he expels everything with all his might into his nappy. It's a sight to behold. Nana almost passed out.

I think maybe one day when I’m feeling particularly care free (and care less) I may just post a picture. However that does mean exposing my son’s nuts on the internet, and well, let’s face it, that’s just wrong.

My sympathies to C enduring her own Code Brown with Huddles. Try laughing, it always amuses me. But then I think I have an addiction to Poop.

By the way, he's still piling on the pounds and is now back to the original growth curve when he was born. Yes, he's 16lbs and on the 99.8th centile. I'm so proud. And back-broken.

My Old Friend is making a very comfortable appearance, rearing an ugly head at every given opportunity. Wouldn’t mind so much if I had the strength to fight back, but it’s amazing how quickly a person can beat themselves up at the most ridiculous things.

“Omg he threw up on me all day and omg omg his nappy is dirty again and omg omg omg I didn’t feed the cat and omg omg omg omg omg omg I forgot to wipe his face clean this morning BAD MOM BAD MOM BAD MOM”

Etc, etc.

Anyway (and this bit is the Proverbial Fan in case you’re wondering) today was just one of those days.

All set to waste a day spending obscene amounts of money shopping with the lovely “Wags”, when I get a phone call to pick up Nana. I think Noah and I had had enough time to approximately drink a diet coke (DIET! Hah.), eat B’s crumpet (thanks B, I never had crumpet before and yours was very nice…), munch on BabyB (omg those cheeks and that hair), and have a brief conversation with C about sports bras and almighty breasts (Seriously. H cups are just frightening things. They’re bigger than Noah’s head).

Nana had fainted from a stomach bug and needed collecting. Is it wrong that for a little while I was really pissed and wanted to go shopping? I felt bad, but hey. She got to see Noah and I know that made her happy. I’ll just have to go buy the world’s biggest tit-slings another time.

Finally got home, checked emails, put Noah in the Baby Torture Device (it’s surprising how fast it grows on you), and then all the power went out. For a whole freaking hour. No heating, no microwave, no cooker, no internet (GAH) nothing. And Noah had somehow soaked his way through his nappy, down his trousers and a sock. So he was really pleased.

And then, to add insult to injury, I had to give in and admit that I had dyed his clothes pink.



In another one of my "Half-Soaked Mommy" Blank-outs, I'd left his red hoodie in with his whites. Which are now bubblegum pink. He's now as well dressed as any other girly out there. I'm not entirely sure what to do; they're still sitting in the bath of bleach, being ignored by me.

He doesn't care, of course, not since his passport arrived and he's free to leave the country.



He also doesn't seem remotely bothered that in an attempt to spruce up Winnie-the-Pooh, we gave him a far more interesting outfit. Or at least a sleeping bag.


In fact, it could be a small scale Baby Torture Device...

It's official, we have a Poopgate Scandal on our hands. Today was a day filled with poop in so many ways. After the antics of our official first Code Brown, things have escalated. Code Brown has escalated. Code Brown has reached amazing new heights (volumes). We've had another 4 since the first one, today's Code Brown resulting in a change of Noah's entire outfit. We have actually taken pictures of one of them. I daren't post them because, well, oh my god (and who wants to be that person who posts pics of baby poop?). I get kinda scared when we go several wet nappies, no poop, cos you kinda know a Code Brown is in the making.

To add insult to injury, and as if Noah's poop wasn't enough (did I mention I'm clearly developing an obsession with poop?), some little doggy pooped on our front lawn. Not impressed. I daren't (can't) point any fingers as I don't know who's adorable little doggy it is, but still, not impressed.

Further to the Poopgate Scandals, it's still a sore subject with myself. Fibersure is my new best friend. What frigging joy. (And don't tell me to eat more fibre. If I eat any more fibre than I'm doing, I'll have my own fruit farm and be growing my own corn dammit.)



"Mother, I'm bored of this poop obsession. Big Tig and I have far more interesting things to deal with."




"Like learning to shove my entire hand in my mouth."




"Followed by a satisfying Code Brown. Ah yes."