Saturday, July 2, 2011

Old Wives Tales

Still no baby. Bloody doctors.

I've been trying the old wives tales. You know the ones I mean, the things your mother and grandmother tell you with that knowing look and they make no sense at all? So far I've tried walks, spicy food, a glass of wine with dinner, chocolate, and changing my sleeping position. As you read previously in this post, still no baby.

Ironically (and sadly, too) the one I haven't tried yet is sex. It's pretty much the only one with some root in medicine, as the cervix apparently does have a dilation response to the introduction of seminal fluid. But I fall into the small percentage of women who suffer from painful sex during pregnancy. It's not even a big percentage, and I feel cheated. Believe me, so does my poor husband. Basically some of us get all swollen and uncomfortable, and when the cervix starts to dilate or efface it gets REALLY tender, so any kind of bumping into it is excruciating. The baby bumps into it a lot as is, so it's even more tender and even more painful. I've been dilated for over three weeks now. My poor, poor husband.

I am, however, getting desperate. Drastic times call for drastic measures and all that, and I'm thinking things don't get much more drastic than "I'm 40+ weeks pregnant and it's 100 degrees outside." Unless you live in a jungle or a swamp. And as luck would have it, our apartment does not have air conditioning, so I sort of AM living in a swamp. A swamp made of my own sweat miasma. It's fabulous, it's like being on Dagobah, but without any muppets to train me. I figure if things don't improve soon I will have a report on whether this last wives tale works, painful or not.

Some of the wives tales have in fact proved relatively true, at least for me. When I started showing I started showing low, which any old fishwife worth her salt will tell you is a sure sign of carrying a boy. Other sure signs I'm carrying a boy? Apparently having a face that doesn't swell during pregnancy, a belly that distends straight out instead of side-to-side, adding your age at conception to the year at conception (27+2010 for me) and it being an odd number, the the woman being more aggressive the night of conception, carrying more weight in your legs than your torso, being especially clumsy, being more comfortable on your left side while asleep, fast-growing leg hair, craving meat, headaches, and a nose that seems to be swelling. I've also had a TON of heartburn, which I hear means he'll be born with hair (no confirmation on this one yet, but judging by the newborn pics of my family and my husband's family, the chance is pretty high). I had horrible morning sickness for several months, which -according to my mother- is a sign of an extremely healthy baby. Considering his current activity level, I can agree that he will in fact be healthy. And squirmy. And probably a world-class athlete in something that involves kicking.

Speaking of kicking, I must add an anecdote, because a) it involves the cats, and b) it is hilarious. I enjoy reading. No, that's not all of the anecdote. I particularly enjoy reading when I have my feet up, which is something that good little pregnant women are supposed to do for extended periods of time every day. Moo has always enjoyed being on my lap while I am reading. He curls up right behind my book and puts his head on my tummy and purrs softly while I read and pet him. At least, he used to. A few weeks ago we were in our normal "isn't this so Rockwellian" pose, curled on the couch with a good book, when Elliot decided he did not enjoy having a cat on him. Elliot, in fact, disliked having a cat on him so much that he decided to kick the cat OFF of him. I had never before, and have never since, seen a look of such confusion on a feline face. Even when playing the famed "hand monster under the blanket" game, Moo would be more likely to pounce and try to kill than run in fear. This time, however (and thankfully) Moo simply got a confused look, and tried to settle down into mommy's belly-pillow again. Which means of course that Elliot simply tried harder. Moo's head actually got air off of that kick, and he jumped and ran so quickly to cower in the corner of the couch that the bottom of my shirt made it all the way up over the belly while he was trying to find traction. Poor kitty nearly had a heart attack, and there's me, his supposed mommy and protector, laughing so hard at him that I had to get up and go to the bathroom to avoid having to change clothes.

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