I’ve been a woman possessed recently, I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’ve been occupied 24-hours a day torturing myself with my GTBOM experiments for weeks and weeks. It’s all in the name of research though, you should know that, it’s not just my impatience that drives me on, but also a genuine passion for helping out my fellow suffering baby-makers. :-)

I’ve tried everything now. Well pretty much everything (the only one I haven’t actually tried yet, is, (forgive me,) this one.)

I feel now is the time I should document my findings and gather my research in order to draw a conclusion upon my previous experiment. (Do I sound all scientific here? I’m trying . . . ) So white coats and enormous goggles at the ready.

THE CASTOR OIL REPORT

Materials required for Castor Oil Experiment:
100ml Virgin Castor Oil
One willing (if not a little desperate) victim. (Ooops, I meant Candidate)

1:30pm— Massive yummy lunch consumed, (Pasta, Bacon and Cheese Sauce) - in order to line the stomach.
2:00pm—40ml of Virgin Castor Oil mixed with pure Orange Juice downed in one. (Managed entire glass though gagged lots at final mouthful. Tasted similar to Vaseline, not that I have ever actually tasted Vaseline. Tasted similar to how I imagine Vaseline would taste based on the smell . . . Oh you get what I mean.)
2:01pm—Chocolate consumed. (Chocolate in my opinion rarely needs an explanation but in this case I ate a little to take Vaseline taste away.)
6:00pm—Darling husband returns home from work armed with toilet roll.
6:15pm—No symptoms to report other than irregular Braxton Hicks contractions. Am shocked.
6:30pm—Repeat dosage of Castor Oil and OJ. Down in one. This time nearly puke all over the dog. (Very sorry dog)
7:00pm—Lamb, roast potatoes and peas consumed. Very yummy. (Thanks Mum)
7:30pm—No symptoms to report. Am even more shocked.
8:00pm—Braxton Hicks get stronger and a little more regular.
9:00pm—Braxton hicks getting even stronger.
10:00pm—Strong contractions. Am bemused how, after downing almost an entire bottle of strong laxative, I have no sudden urges to visit toilet. Seriously, I apologise if too much info but must be only woman in world to drink laxatives and suffer not even an attack of flactulance. Only wind coming from me is seeping from area formerly housing brain.
11:00pm—Bemusement comes to an end as contractions merge with tummy ache and I find I didn’t get lucky at all. Toilet roll coming in very handy indeed.
11:30pm—Still keeping toilet warm. Can hear Mother and Husband giggling like children. Bastards.
12:00am—Contractions kick in. Ouchy. Phone hospital.
1:00am—Lorelei is carried to friends house, Mummy is put in car with car-seat, notes and labour bag. Excited. Scared. Nervous. Pained.
1:15am—Arrive at Kettering hospital. Shoved onto ward with 5 other women. One woman panting for England. Sounds as though having asthma attack. Can also hear slurping wet sounds of her husbands kisses. Cannot see couple from shitty stained curtains but conclude both are ugly and sweaty and gross. Feel sick. Lots of other women panting and crying too, though none as loudly as first. Lots of scared partners trying to keep composed too. No staff.
1:25am—Still have yet to be greeted. Am feeling very upset.
1:35am—No acknowledgement of my presence at all. Perhaps should begin wailing like greasy woman in corner, however tend to be very quiet in pain and not very good actress.
1:45am—Nobody cares I am here and no one wants to check on me.
1:50am—Go to toilet. Find approx 15 midwives chatting happily, sitting on desks and drinking coffee in reception. Could scream and cry all at once. Am thinking, ‘bollocks, will have baby at home by myself.’ Lots of women do it. Lots of new age hippies and such.
1:52am—Tell Mum and Jay of my plans. Still having contractions, still crying, but starting to doubt am in labour at all. Contractions not as strong as before.
1:55am—Leave shithole known as Maternity Ward and come home. Via MacDonalds. (Micky D's never lets me down - Golden Archers are my saviour.)
2:30am—Am home, first port of call? Bathroom. :-(
2:45am—Finish my 'chat' with toilet, swallow some pain killers and hit the sack. 

My verdict? Well it definitely did something because I’ve not suffered tightening’s as painful as that in the entire pregnancy. As for the nasty side effects? (Or should that be ‘bottom’ effects?! Lol) - well that wasn't so bad in the sceme of things, (though that’s easy to say now that bottom is healed and tummy is no longer in knots.)

Mum, who had been staying with us for the past few days in case I popped has admitted defeat and returned home now. Which means I won’t be treated to as many wonderful Clary Sage Massages and reflexology as I was, alas I was becoming quite accustomed to them and therefore have been swanning about (less swanning more waddling actually) like the queen of Sheeba. (Where is Sheeba by the way? Does such a place exist? And whom, might I ask, is the real queen?! Lol)
 
Will be calling mum back as soon as I get some real action though, (that’s if I ever do) and this time I have been focusing a lot on exactly what I’m going to do when labour does kick off. I’m thinking I’m going to put my foot down and argue a little more for the homebirth that I so want.  The hospital just upsets me so much and I know I’m going to have a terrible time of it if I have to go back there. I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just trying to be realistic. And this is a big deal. The birth of a baby is something no Mother ever forgets in a hurry, I’ve gotta make it a positive experience. 

So that’s my next mission. To secure my homebirth. And in the meantime . . . (and I hate myself for saying this but I guess . . .) Baby will come when he’s ready. 

Steph x 

Domestic? Hardly. Goddess? Of course ;-)



Yesterday, however,  I was a bit of both. I’m all preened and plucked and have been pampered to within an inch of my life in preparation for those post-birth photo’s. (My goodness that’s a lot of p’s lol) and I’ve also either undergone a personality transplant unknowingly or have finally been blessed with the good old instinct to nest.



I’ve been waiting for the nesting instinct to kick in for weeks and weeks now, all the while my house was starting to resemble something Kim and Aggie would want to get their marigolds on. On my big pregnant bottom I’d sat, willing myself to attempt the housework, alas I couldn't muster the strength for anything more than a Sky + remote workout. 

Well finally a few days ago I had my body possessed by a clean freak and boy have I made up for lost time. Scrubbing, scouring, spraying, cleansing, bleaching . . . You name it we did it. (You see with the nesting instinct also came a bossing instinct which ensured that both Jay and Lori were involved in my cleaning spree.)



Yesterday, on my hands and knee’s, I scrubbed the bathroom floor with bump serving as a drying and polishing aid, (twas quite funny actually, even though I was soaked by the end of it) and I’m feeling so satisfied right now with everything done and dusted. Barry Scott eat ya heart out . . .



My labour bag, now that I’m left with little choice but to have this baby in hospital, is finally all packed with totally undignified yet essential items such as disposable pants and maternity pads. All acting as a cruel reminder of what I’ve got to come. I’m nervous as hell but so want to get this show on the road.



The only way I can describe how I feel right now is to compare it, (very naively) to sky diving, (of course this comparison isn’t likely to be very precise since I am a ‘feet firmly on the ground (in gorgeous shoes) kinda gal’ and have therefore not even come close to jumping outta a plane,) but for the purpose of explanation this is what I’m going with.



The plane is soaring, the door is open, I’m waiting for the final countdown to begin before I take a giant leap. My heart is pounding, I feel sick and dizzy.



Add the false alarms and painfully strong Braxton hicks that I have been getting regularly for days and days now and I feel as though someone is rocking me towards the door of the plane and then yanking me back again. ‘Ready . . . Steady . . . Only joking.’



I’m on pain killers to help ease the tenderness that these practise contractions are causing but they don’t seem to be helping much, because it still hurts so much that at times I feel I could just collapse into a heap and cry a million tears.



It’s got to the point now where I no longer trust my body nor my instincts.  My bump will tense until it is as heavy and hard as a boulder. My back will begin to ache under the strain and my breath will be temporarily out of reach and I have little choice but to try to ignore it and hope it’ll either be accompanied by something dramatic like the breaking of my waters or something or will just f- off and leave me in peace.



It’s exhausting and depressing and just plain cruel. And I have officially reached that stage in pregnancy where I could quite literally climb to the rooftops and scream, ‘GET it out!!!’ (Alas do not fear, my previously mentioned ‘feet on the ground’ thing will prevent me from making any risky trips on top of buildings! Lol)



But it’s not just the pain that’s at the root of my impatience. Because I also just cannot wait to meet this little person now. Cannot wait to love and nurture him on the outside. To welcome him into our (now very clean and sparkly) home and cradle him as the newest member of our family.



I have been pregnant for over a year now. In total it has been 59 weeks. It’s been the biggest endurance test ever and such a rollercoaster of a ride. Reaching the halfway mark in one pregnancy before receiving such tragic news that I don’t think any of us will ever truly get over, was by far the most traumatic experience I’ve ever had (and with my track record of dramatic events that is saying something) - Then when we discovered I was expecting again, just 6 short weeks after we had lost our gorgeous baby boy, and we had to live in constant fear that we were about to experience a case of history repeating. Especially when the genetics doctors told me we had just a one-in-four chance of our new baby being born healthy. Well we made it this far, the finishing line is just days away, yet I don’t feel as though I can wait another second.



So I’m going to be a naughty girl this afternoon, I’m going to be a rebel (something's never change.)  I have tried every other method in my GTBOM experiment to no avail and I have just one final trick up my sleeve—The Castor Oil.



It’s gotta be dodgy stuff. It’s harder to get hold of than crack. Seriously. It’s kept under lock and key in the pharmacy and pregnant women are absolutely forbidden to purchase it. This fact should not fill me with confidence, it should make me reconsider entirely. So too should all the terrible reviews and horrific stories I’ve read. So too should the comments and experiences and advice from my fellow pregnant ladies. Alas I am, I’m ashamed to admit, just one of those girls who’ll never learn. Or rather shall learn eventually but will always take the most difficult route. I have come to accept this over the years.



Basically I’ve read that castor oil, (which, as mentioned in my previous blog, is a really strong laxative) is meant to encourage contractions by making the intestines, which surround the uterus at this late stage of pregnancy, contract. This in itself is basically supposed to speed things up a little. So you see, In my opinion all I am really doing is giving mother nature and my stubborn body a gentle shove in the right direction.



If I have to suffer contractions at least let them being working towards getting my longed-for bubba into my arms.



Women have been using Castor Oil for decades and decades, though once again there are claims that nobody really knows how successful this method is for kick-starting labour because there hasn’t been enough research undertaken, which just sounds like such a load of bull to me.



I’ve been given advice from some of the girls in the village who have all tried it before. They all recommend eating an enormous meal, (which should be easy peasy for me as my current appetite could rival an elephants!) then mixing the oil with OJ (Apparently the oil really is completely disgusting) - downing it in one before hopping into a lovely warm tub, having a soak and waiting for the effects.



This is pretty much how I’ll be spending my afternoon. I’m nervous but hopeful—dreading the horrible side effects but praying that this will be the one trick in the book that’ll work for my bump and I.



Please don’t tell me off. I’m a big girl and I promise to suffer in silence if it does all go horribly wrong. Either way I’ll keep you posted!



x

 

Well it would seem my iron levels have remained the same. The results of yesterday's blood test were delivered to me this morning along with the inevitable news that I will be giving birth in the chamber of horrors. (Oooops I mean hospital.)

To say i'm gutted is an understatement. I feel so let down and so angry with myself for believing that this time things would be different. They should have given me the results weeks ago, then it would be a different story. Knobheads. (I apologise for my use of immature language alas i am very hormonal and tend to find swearing rather theraputic actually.)

I'l get over it, it's just gonna take a while to sink in.

In the meantime I cannot see any reason why this little person shouldn't join us on the outside now and so operation GTBOM ("GET THIS BABY OUTTA ME" - in case you were wondering) is now at the fore-front of my mind and on the top of my list of priorities from now on!

I'm going for a long walk in a bit (I read that walking will help ensure he's in the easiest position) and after that am heading into town to buy all the ingredients for my project. On my list . . .

Castor Oil. (I know those of you who know all about pregnancy and the effects of taking this laxative will be sucking in breath through gritted teeth right now and reading with expressions of horror on your faces, alas i am being rebellious today and will suffer in silence later if it doesn't work!)

More pineapple, (you never know)

Something spicy for tea (could go with the usual Curry but am thinking Mexican could be even better!)

Was going to put Raspberry Leaf Tea however have just read that I should have been taking this every day for the past 6 weeks for it to have any real effect. Pants.

Evening Primrose Oil (I'm gonna be so silky and greasy with all this oil consumption! lol)

Oregano and Fresh Basil. (Don't ask about the scientific effects, i haven't really done my homework on this one, but will try nevertheless!)

Am also needing to purchase new PJ's, slippers and dressing gown for labour bag.

Oh and need to put car-seat in car.

And chocolate to cheer me up too!

Steph x

Well Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight is the night i have been waiting for, for weeks and weeks and weeks.

In a few hours I will officially hit week 38 of this pregnancy and therefore will be on target for the home birth i have had my heart set on.

My birthing pool is all pumped up and filled with water and the equipment is all set. The dining room is hereby known as the delivery suite and my GTBOM project can now officially commence (although we all know that my impatience has persuaded me to start a few of the methods a little earlier, tut, tut!)

And guess what? It appears that my spending a little time on all-fours (no! Not like that you filthy buggers!) has paid off - baby is no longer back-to-back and is instead all ready for take-off in exactly the right position.

You'd think I'd be on top of the world right now?!

Well i was, until the midwife announced that the results of my last blood test showed my iron levels are too low to actually qualify me for a home birth.

They've had these results for over a month yet didn't feel it necessary (considering my plans for a homebirth) to actually share them with me. One fucking month. I could have been taking supplements. I could and would have been stocking up on my greens. But they failed to tell me until now. Now when i can pretty much do sweet FA about it.

I hate to upset anyone here with this next comment (and indeed paragraphs) but it has to be said. The shitty NHS, their rules, regulations and overall negligence never ceases to disappointment me. What a tosserific organisation. Total and utter shit and nowhere near worthy of the amount of tax we pay.

I had thought that by choosing to have this baby at home I would be avoiding the majority of all the stress and dissapointment that comes with virtually any experience of the NHS. 

I'd hoped i could have a little control over my own labour and birthing experience, yet instead it seems that, due to their incompetence, I may have to put up with the usual.

Appalling care, (due to staff shortages and extortionate waiting times.)

A total lack of privacy, (the last time i was on the labour ward i found myself next to a poor woman in horrific pain wailing away. She was 7cm's dilated and progressing so quickly and still they had not been able to offer her a private room. The woman opposite me, meanwhile, was sounding deeply embarrassed as she was asked to discuss details of her muchas plug for all to hear. Seriously they pull those mouldy curtains around you as though that will somehow make you invisible and inaudible to the rest of the ward.) 

A sargeant major midwife (whom i imagine will be 'looking after' several women at once and therefore will be unavailable most of the time.)

And of course . . .

parking charges,

terrible food

And restrictions on everything from toilets, (birth partners are not allowed to use the toilets on the labour ward and instead are required to leave and use the facilities in the main hospital) to visiting times.

I'm being a pessimistic grouchy cow i know (I'm so tired though, one of the symptoms of being anemic!) And I could be totally wrong, but i'd rather be prepared for what i fear will be the case than try to convince myself that it'll be different this time round and then be bitterly disappointed at the end of it all.

The midwife has taken more blood today and will be re-testing and telephoning me with the results tomorrow. So there is a teeny, weeny chance that my levels might be okay now (four weeks on) - but I'm seriously suspecting that the results will be the same and my dreams and plans for a home birth will be gone with the wind. (And I'll be lumbered with the worlds most expensive paddling pool! lol)

The last time I went into labour and gave birth i didn't get to take my baby home. Instead i left empty handed and my little boy went to heaven.

The time before that I delivered my daughter and was practically evicted from the hospital before the effects of pethidine had even worn off. (They needed my bed.)

I so hoped it would a case of third time lucky this time round.

I know it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. What will be will be and the only real aspect of importance is that baby is delivered safely. Yet I'm longing for a happy birthing experience. and it's so difficult not to feel let down.

I'll find out in the morning and I doubt i'll get any sleep tonight.

Wish me luck!

x

Now before I continue I would just like to state, for the record, that I am ordinarily a very good girl with a very pure mind 0:-)

It is therefore necessary that I warn you that the contents of today’s blog may shock and/or disgust some. (And at the very least it may leave you with an icky taste in your mouth. No pun intended.)



Please continue to read with caution and if you happen to be a relative of mine, (particularly an older relative—Mum, Dad, Nan, etc) please refrain from reading any further. Otherwise family BBQ’s may never be the same again.



You see, ladies and gentlemen, today’s letter is ‘S’ and the topic is ‘Sperm.’



(You see Dad, told you you wouldn’t want to read it!)



In keeping with my ‘GET THIS BABY OUTTA ME,’ experiment I have found myself stumbling upon sperm, (not literally, thank god!) as yet another method of naturally inducing labour.  You’ve heard it all before no doubt, how ‘getting jiggy’ is a sure-fire way of kick starting contractions?! Well it turns out that this method is less about the love sword and more about the nuts, (the tadpoles to be more specific.)



For the purpose of my experiment I have decided to investigate the theory a little further.—So if you wouldn’t mind holding my bag ladies, I’m going in. ;-)



I’ve conducted a fair amount of research for today’s blog, (can I get an, ‘Oooooohhhh’ ?!) - Not practical , nor oral research, (though I fear that part is *ahem* coming,)  but certainly a fair amount of scientific research in theory, so I’m hoping you are suitably impressed with this, since, as you know, I am not a scientific kinda gal. But you see I felt it was necessary to gather the facts before I go recommending you hook up with any old Tom, Dick or Harry in order to get yourself into labour. (You see, I am so caring and lovely.)



At risk of sounding like a bimbo in a shampoo advert, here is the science part . . .

Semen contains hormones known as prostaglandins which help ripen the cervix and thus make it dilate, (the cervix needs to dilate to around 10cm’s for the baby to pass through.) If you’re past your due date your doctor would probably use a prostaglandin gel to get you started. It’s the exact same hormone as found in semen. :-)



It is thought that ingesting the er spunk (is it odd that I am making myself blush with these words??! Lol) is even more effective in helping the cervix soften than actually applying in topically.



So there you have it, it would seem that the answer to all my personal prayers could be ready and waiting in my husbands pants. (Wipe that smile from your face now please darling, thank you.) ;-)



Unfortunately though there is very little evidence to show how effective this method of inducing labour is, because apparently, (and I’m not sure I can quite believe this) - the method of using semen to start labour hasn’t been tested enough.  (Are they serious??! Not tested enough?? Is there a pregnant woman in the world who hasn’t tried to straddle her man in an attempt to get his creation to vacate her body?! Ah well, apparently not, according to the experts.)



Clearly we are going to have to take matters into our own hands ladies. YES. There is only one thing to be done . . . And it is in the interest of generating World Peace (amongst heavily pregnant women, their partners, families, friends and any other poor soul that has to put up with the whinging.)



And so if I could invite you all one-by-one to put down your Gaviscon, stand on your poor swollen footsies, grab your man, (or any man for that matter) and come forth . . .  (I am aware that this post is littered with all kinds of innuendoes and for that I apologise lol)



This appeal is for pregnant ladies everywhere to um, (how to put this . . . ?!) please, for the good of the group, include a little semen into your diets. That’s right girls, semen on toast, semen in tea. Whichever way you like it. Let us get these baby’s outta us, one for all and all for one! And, just as The Beatles once suggested, let us sing at the tops of our voices, ‘Come Together, Right Now . . . Over me!’



(I told you this blog post would leave you with an icky taste in your mouth! - I’m so so sorry! And if it’s any consolation I feel sick now too!!)



Please remember to use my comment form to post your success rates and of course any other tips you’d like to add! (Recipes perhaps?!) You can report back anonymously should you wish, just as long as we all know the results of our very scientific project.



Go forth ladies and good luck! Report back with progress :-) (And I will too of course!)



With Love (and toothpaste on hand.)



Steph x



P.S—If you do decide that to conduct your experiment in the conventional way, (by humping) please be aware that orgasm and nipple stimulation is also meant to kick-start contractions too :-)

I wish I could blame my recent absence from my blog on the success of my GTBOM experiment and thus my baby’s arrival into the outside world. Alas I cannot. I am still full to the brim of baby, (growing by the minute too I might add) and this little one seemingly has no intentions on making his debut. Ever.

I’m always promising to tell the truth, the whole truth and *nothing but the truth in this blog, so despite feeling very guilty for being the bearer of such pessimistic news I feel it is my duty to inform you that the pineapple theory, on which my previous GTBOM experiment was based, has proven to be an absolute load of bollocks (for want of a better word.)

 I hate pissing on everyone’s fireworks and I so wanted the pineapple to do the trick . . . (Maybe I didn’t eat enough?! I don’t know.) I wanted to provide hope for my fellow waddling pregnant women, so I am very sorry, but do not fear, I shall keep trying :-)

As well as the constant remarks about my size and shape and the pats on the bump that I receive daily, (sometimes from complete strangers too) I am constantly asked the question, ’How long have you got to go?’  I loathe it, mainly because it is almost always followed by a comment that makes me really f’ing mad. (Note the need for the f word.) The comment in question?

‘Ah well, there’s nothing you can do about it anyway, baby will come when it’s ready.’

‘Baby will come when it’s ready??!!’ FFS. I know that these comments aren’t meant to drive me nuts (and it’s probably just my hormones that have me so riled anyway,) but this one in particular really grinds my gears. ‘Baby will come when it’s ready.’ Now call me what you will but I can’t help but think I am the parent, the birth-giver, the mother and therefore the boss. So I will decide when this baby comes out, thank you kindly.

Do I sound like a control freak?! I’m not normally. But boy does it wind me up. Even though I secretly suspect that they’re right, there is nothing I can do to determine when this baby comes, he will come when he’s ready. But you know what? Sometimes honesty isn’t always the best policy. And in my case they can save the truth, I’d much rather hear lies anyway. Gimme the old wives tales, a little light at the end of the tunnel and something to keep my mind busy and occupied whilst I play this waiting game, save your facts for someone who needs a kick when they’re down.

I have five days to go until I’m 38 weeks and therefore allowed to have my baby here at home. So I’m keeping my fingers (and legs, though that may be perhaps a little too much information for some) crossed that he will stay put until then. All experiments will officially recommence on the 4th June but until then I am trying to inject a little patience into the matter.

Whilst I am practising my patience I also have a another baby-related mission to accomplish. I need to turn him around. He’s not breech, (thank goodness) his head is indeed in the right place and ready for action, but instead of facing me, which is the optimal position for labour, he has his back to mine and all his limbs are front-facing. This, combined with my, ‘irritable uterus,’ (this is a real medical condition apparently—how typical of me to have it lol) is the main cause of all the Braxton Hicks contractions and other pains I’ve been getting.

I’ve heard I need to spend a considerable amount of time on-all-fours in order to get him to swing his little body round the right way. Alas can only think of two things that require one to be on all fours. The first is scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom floors, (not on your nelly mate) and the second is, well, you probably already know . . . (again, not on your nelly mate lol) ;-)



Yoga, swimming, laying on my left-hand side, swaying on my birth ball and sitting the wrong-way-round on my chair are all other activities I’m gonna try out, (of course will also welcome suggestions!)



If I can’t turn him I’m reckoning we’re in for one hell of a ride on the old labour train. It’s supposed to take double the time and be double the work giving birth to a back-to-back baby. Oh god help me . . . Perhaps I should go with the epidural after all ;-)



Wish me luck as I crawl around my house!



Love to all!



Steph x

 

TIME: 6:50pm ~ LOCATION: Lounge ~ BABY: In Tummy.

Project: 'GET THIS BABY OUTTA ME.' commences.

Am in sticky mess tucking into my fresh pineapple. Have had tightenings (prob just Braxton Hicks) for the past 5/6 hours or so, very irregular, very annoying.

Half pineapple has been scoffed. Working on the other half as I type . . .

Wish me luck!

Back in a bit! x

TIME: 7:50pm ~ LOCATION: Lounge ~ BABY: Still In Tummy

All pineapple been consumed, (except for hard bits, yuk - and the odd chunk donated very kindly by me to my darling husband, aren't I so sweet?) Felt a bit sick at first, but it's all good now. Braxton Hicks are still coming on strong and now have backache too. Will continue to time the tightenings and update as soon as! (Unless of course baby comes flying out at the speed of lightening! (Ha, I should be so lucky!) )

x

Patience may be a virtue, but unfortunately it is definitely not one which I personally possess.

I still have 5 days to go until this pregnancy is considered, ‘full term,’ and 12 days until I will be allowed to have a homebirth, (if I go into labour beforehand  I’ve been told I’ll have to go into hospital.) Trouble is waiting even one day  longer  is proving to be a challenge for my non-existent patience.

I don’t do waiting. At all. Nada. And I definitely don’t do waiting for a Man, no matter how cute and small and lovable he may be! (Lol) Every day I wake wondering whether today could be my child’s birthday? And every night I climb into bed wondering whether I’ll last through the night without going into labour?

I don’t think I’d mind waiting half as much if my body wasn’t constantly teasing me with signs of impending labour. Strong Braxton Hicks, ‘That-time-of-the-month’ feelings, cramps, backache, you get my drift . . .  

So anyway I know I said my ‘GET THIS BABY OUTTA ME,’ mission wouldn’t commence until next week, but  I figured that there really is no harm in getting cracking a little earlier than planned. :-)

In my kitchen right now is the biggest pineapple I’ve ever seen. And I’m going to scoff the lot this afternoon, in the hope that the enzyme found in fresh pineapple, (also found in the stuff they use to induce labour in hospital,) will get the ball rolling and will help turn my practise contractions into the Real McCoy. I’ve read that you’d need to eat about seven whole pineapples for the enzyme to have any real effect, but I am choosing to ignore this piece of information, after all I ate only a very small amount last time and went into labour with Lorelei just a few hours later. Don’t fret though dear blog—I plan on keeping you fully informed with a running commentary as soon as I’ve nibbled the first piece!

Baby C is most definitely welcome to make his appearance this weekend. I know it’s not likely that he’ll pay much attention to my own calendar commitments, but I’m just saying . . .  In fact it would be lovely if he arrived tomorrow (say 9am-10am-ish?!) - You see it’s his Mummy and Daddy’s first Wedding Anniversary tomorrow—and we’ve been waiting forever for this gift.  :-)

Will be back with pineapple updates as promised!

Steph x 

P.S - Those of you wondering where I've been for the last week or so? Check out the pics!