We all get to that point. The point where a pregnant lady feels like she might just be pregnant forever. Every twinge and ache brings on a nervous, “Is this it? Should I time that? Why is there a basketball hiding under my shirt!?” Hello due date, and eating ALL THE FEELINGS.
As a service to all those big-baby-belly-mamas out there, I thought I might document all the things we tried this time to get Baby to self-evict, and then the one thing that actually succeeded.
- Finish all the projects related to your previous baby. Case in point above: Dom’s quilt. Monica’s was done before she was born. Lucia’s was done a week before Dominic was born, and Dominic’s was finished 5 days before Genevieve’s arrival. At this rate, Baby G’s should be done right before she heads to college.
- Do a maternity shoot! But put it off until you are so giant that getting up off the ground looks more like a turtle on its shell trying to right itself. But the opposite…?Oh, make sure to wear a dress so that you can worry about everyone seeing your undies as you thrash about, and refuse everyone’s offer of a hand to help you up, despite their increasingly panicked looks as you rock back and forth, building momentum. If you’re lucky, you’ll have a very skilled friend taking your pictures so that instead of awkward and horrible, they turn out adorable and perfect. (Let me know if you want Sam’s number!).
- Don’t actually consider this one, but I can’t help but notice a pattern in my life: almost injuries. When I was very pregnant with Dominic, I tripped in the middle of a Panera restaurant, coming down hard on my knees. Like almost broke my kneecaps hard. He was born a week-ish later. This time round, even with the utmost care, I managed to almost break the toes of my left foot. Get this: on the way to a pedicure. Pedicure dreams completely trashed by the bleeding toes, I quickly dissolved into sobs that sounded an awful lot like labor breathing. This nearly gave my husband a heart attack thinking I was having the baby in the middle of the garage. No, just feeling infinitely sorry for myself. Since I have wonderful friends, they brought the pedicure to me instead, and with the most gentle of hands, washed my feet and painted my toes. I know. They’re seriously the best.
- Move furniture. Lots of furniture. Decide that all the couches are in the wrong place. Your china hutch would suit someone else better and that you need a coffee bar in its place. I mean, you are prepping for months if not years of no sleep, right? Coffee makes sense. China does not. (And, by move furniture, I of course mean give a cursory push or two, but mostly sit and watch your husband and his muscles.) Also, apparently even Mo knows how important coffee is. She titled this piece: How to make Daddy Feel Better.
- Freak out that there’s no possible way to afford ALL THE CHILDREN. Then learn a new skill that will save you money, like cutting your husband’s hair. And your son’s hair. There will be way more thrashing and crying involved with one of the two, but both haircuts will turn out ok-good, and food mollifies any trimming errors for either dude.
- Schedule elective surgery for a child about 3 weeks before your due date! (Also one I don’t actually suggest). The stress of Lulu’s tonsillectomy actually almost did bring on labor. We had good contractions going for the whole week of her recovery, which I chose to simply ignore. Mostly because it would have been terribly inconvenient to deliver at that point, but also because I like to pretend that I have control over when my babies will be delivered. It did, however, set up a nice example of how to not exert myself, which I followed for the remaining 3 weeks of pregnancy. Go for a walk? Nah. Let’s see how many more Sophia the First episodes we can binge watch before my brain explodes. Anyone want a popsicle or six? Perhaps some Chuggington? That little ear worm should only be stuck in my head for approximately FOREVER.
So, none of those things worked. I submit them to you as options, perhaps one of them is the magic eject button for you. Here’s what works for me.
Not just any milkshake.
A milkshake at the Stardust Diner.
Me on July 6th, 2012:
Me on July 7th, 2012.
Me on March 31st, 2014:
Me on April 1st, 2014.
Me on September 20th, 2016:
Me on September 21st, 2016.
Seriously guys (gals?), I’m a scientist. I believe in the scientific method. I believe in repeatable results. And here are my results in triplicate. Have a milkshake at this diner, preferably share it with your existing progeny, and you will have a baby the next day! Science? Magic? Doesn’t matter, it works!
Speaking of having a baby, isn’t she delicious?
And I mean that in only the way a mother can. More along the lines of Eucharist than cannibalism… There is just something so good and pure and holy and tasty about a tiny newborn.
Hope these tips help some of you along. Her story of coming into this world up next!