Monday, January 9, 2012

Leggo My Preggo

 (I'm not sure what this title is supposed to mean, I just thought it sounded strangely appropriate)

  I'm not a big believer in old wives' tales for the most part. Which is a bit funny, since I tend to be a superstitious person by nature; I mean, c'mon, Ghost Hunters is one of my favorite shows and I still make wishes every time I go through a yellow light. But most old wives' tales, especially where pregnancy and going into labor is concerned, just strike me as silly. Why would eating a jalapeno make me go into labor? Is Lincoln going to suddenly think, "Holy crap, it's gettin' too hot around here, time for me to scadoo!"? [note: I have no idea how "scadoo" is supposed to be spelled, I'm sorry] I've gotten an increasing amount of old wives' tales as the days since my due date have passed to help me go into labor. I've ignored most of them, but the one that sounded the most plausible to me was going for a long walk. I dunno, possibly the pressure of being upright and active for a while would cause some chemical reaction, or mayhap it would build up pressure like an earthquake, who knows? So I figured, where do you go to have endless amounts of walking? IKEA, of course! (Or Disneyland, but that's out of my reach at the moment). My parents had given me an IKEA giftcard for Christmas, and I figured that if a day at IKEA didn't cut it for the walking theory, nothing would. Plus, it felt like tempting fate to go all the way to Portland, and tempting fate is starting to sound pretty good.

  FOUR HOURS of walking later, we had picked out a small storage cubby for Lincoln's room (along with some boxes to put in it), a shelf to put over our bed, a frame for a print I got for my birthday, and a cork board. In addition, my legs felt like they were about to collapse, and I was pretty sure my feet were bleeding. But did I go into labor? No. No, I did not. Old wives' tales can suck it.

  Saturday night I prayed I would go into labor. I did this primarily so I would not have to talk to every single adult ward member about my being, YES, still pregnant. My prayers went unheeded, however. We woke up a bit late (9:00 church is totally screwing with my system), and so we arrived during the opening hymn. There were three people in the hall still.

  Man #1: Shouldn't you have popped by now??

 Woman #1: I was thinking about you the other day! I was thinking, 'Gosh, I sure hope she had her baby by now.' I guess not, huh?

 Woman #2: What's your due date again?

  Three out of three in the first minute of church. Didn't bode well to me. Not that these were terribly rude or inconsiderate comments (though I did grimace a bit at the first one), but when EVERY SINGLE PERSON who sees you says something like this, your patience starts to wear thin. Or at least mine does, but we've already established that I'm a terrible person.

  So, long story short, yes, I'm still pregnant. And, since they won't induce you in Oregon until TWO WEEKS after your due date, I will probably still be pregnant until the 16th at the rate I'm going. So let's just pretend that the 16th is my new due date and never speak of it again until then, yes? I promise to keep you well-informed if I should have Lincoln "early".

  Any of you have late babies? If so, how did you stay sane?


  1. Jake was 15 days late; Corinne was 14. I'm not sure I did stay sane. I know with Corinne, I started having John answer the phone because I was sooo tired of saying, "No, I haven't had the baby yet."

    Hang in there. (Julia, not Lincoln!)

  2. Lincoln's just looking out for Mommy. He wants to make sure your lip is good and healed before your subjected to an endless photo spree.

  3. Strangers at restaurants and stores were asking my due date. I LOVED seeing their faces when I said, "Three days ago. . ." like it was no big deal. I could tell they were trying to remember the number for 911, because they didn't want to put health class into action.

    I stayed sane because I knew the longer I worked BEFORE Olivia was born, the longer I could stay home after she was born. If she had been two weeks late I could have simply not gone back to work and just sailed into summer break. But fear of going into labor during class made me beg my doctor to induce me.

    But that probably doesn't help you. Here is a list of awesome things to do

  4. Everyday past your due date is torture. It is a mental thing. Like when you are running (and by 'you' I mean like, 'someone' because the last time I 'ran' was. . .well, yeah) and you think "I can make it to that mailbox" and you can. But no farther because you told yourself you can make it to the mailbox. . .not the next tree. So you tell yourself you can make it until your due date and your due date comes and goes and your mind explodes. Also your feet and ankles. It is so, so hard. I am sorry.
    The only comfort I found was realizing that I would rather go over than be way to early. Big, healthy, slow-cooked babies are much better than premies. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
    Good luck. I tried EVERYTHING to make Lily come and nothing worked.
    You could always pretend that you are in labor. Really go crazy with the theatrics, then, when they get you hooked up to the monitors say 'I don't know what is happening, but it just. . .stopped' By that time, and with you already overdue, and in the hospital, etc. I don't think they would send you home.