There comes a time in every pregnant woman's life when she arrives at the conclusion that she's Done. Although not in any way ready to deal with a newborn, she is simply through with the metal-eating acid reflux, tired of an ass that is growing exponentially to the size of her belly, and finished with sounding like a Very Old Person With Gas every time she has to bend over or get up from the floor.
Saturday I actually had to rest after taking a shower. Because I was THAT exhausted. I wake up in the morning completely sure I will not be able to actually get out of bed - and that's after I've slept nine hours.
And of course, there's no telling when this will end. I have two different due dates: one puts me at 37 weeks this Thursday, the other not til next Wednesday. I've decided to go with the earlier date. Let's hope The Boy goes along with this plan.
I don't want to have to resort to drastic measures, like, you know, actually have to have sex (prostaglandin in semen can help get the cervix ready). I just don't think I can stay awake long enough, to say nothing of the circus act that it is at this point.
But you know, desperate times and all that..
Anyway, my midwife came over today and, through external examination, determined the baby's head has definitely descended, and he's just wiggling his butt around (SO comfortable, let me tell you).
She also came up to my bedroom, where David rearranged the furniture so we can accomdate a birthing pool. She then explained to me exactly how one gives birth while in the pool. I will simply report to you all that in one position, I would be delivering the baby myself. Luckily, the baby is still attached via the umbilical cord so the slimy little baby can not slip out of my grasp and fly across the room.
We'll see how it goes. As long as it goes sooner than later.
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