(cues cheesy 80s music)

Well folks, it’s that time.  T-minus 10 hours and counting until we check-in for baby lift-off.  I’m getting a combination of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” and Bowie’s “Major Tom” intermittently in my head, though I have our TV set to the Soundscapes music channel.  “Relaxation,” they say will get your body ready for labor – why so many women end up going into labor in the middle of the night.

I’ve gone all weekend half-heartedly trying the old wives’ tales methods of inducing labor… eating eggplant, and tropical fruit;  walking for a distance (though the only distance I could handle was a lap around the Shops at Ithaca Mall and Target – hey you try walking with a head implanted in your pelvis!); bouncing on my exercise ball; and other activities that are for Anthony and I only.

Last night I had Braxton-Hicks contractions ALL night long, but these were stronger and crampier than I’d experienced in the past.  They continuously woke me up, and every time I got up to pee was an excruciating feat in and of itself (again – the head in the pelvis.  Give it a try).  At one point I swore that maybe I was indeed going into ‘real’ labor, and even considered timing my contractions on my handy dandy phone app – but I didn’t want to wake Anthony and worry him.  So I slept through it for the most part, proving to myself once again that they were indeed only Braxton Hicks.

Once up and mobile today, they all but subsided…pain-wise at least.  The came and went throughout the day, as they usually do.  Enough for me to enjoy brunch at Agava, and a good lengthy porch-chill at my friends’ house and a much-needed dose of decent outdoor weather.  We tried driving over every bump we came across between here and there; considered going off-roading to kick things in gear (I declined); and I feverishly cleaned the house and bounced more on my exercise ball.  Let me just tell you that the exercise ball is a godsend and feels extremely good on achy backs and crampy pregnant midsections.  I hope to God I can claim one at Cayuga Medical Center for my labor.

So that brings me to labor.  We have an ‘appointment’ I guess you could say at 7:30 Monday morning to check into CMC to be induced.  As I may have noted before, my practitioners were not going to let me go past my due date, due to my brush with gestational diabetes and my age, I am at risk of degradation of the placenta.  Basically past a certain point my placenta could start to break down and baby wouldn’t have sufficient access to oxygen or nutrients because of that.  Thus, the induction.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am apprehensive about the whole thing… induction usually means a healthy dose of Pitocin, which I am not keen on.  If you’re not familiar with Pitocin, or “Pit” as those on the inside sometimes refer to it, I won’t go into it here but you can look it up for yourselves on the not-so-wonderful reputation this drug has with both mother and child.  Frankly it scares me.  And thus I’ve been stressing about it for the past week, praying that baby would just decide to come on his own… and thus, the bouncing, the eggplant, the etc etc.  My plan is to refuse the Pit and encourage other methods of induction, depending on where my body’s at when they check me out (and by the way my nether regions feel right now – I wouldn’t be surprised if they find I’m quite well along or dilated nicely – crossing fingers).   We’ll see how that all goes.  Worse comes to worse I guess I’d rather have a dose of Pit and the subsequent chemical kick in the gut than for some ungodly reason have to face down a C-Section.  But like I said – we’ll see how that all goes.  By thinking about it, I’m just surmising and living in the future and not doing what I should be doing, which is relaxing.  The buzzer just went off on the dryer, so someone up there’s trying to tell me “yeah shut the heck up Jen”.

Anyways so that’s where we’re at.  Bags are packed, Anthony’s doing some last minute errands, and then we’re ready to rock and roll this thing called birth.

Wish me luck and send happy thoughts our way (and do a kabuki dance that I go into labor in the middle of the night instead – that wouldn’t hurt my cause too.)