My mistake, in retrospect, was paramount. Based on my past experience (delivering spontaneously, after 3.5 hours of labor at 38 weeks, I decided (yes, decided) I was going to have Baby Noah on Monday, March 25, 2007. I felt complete, ready, and full term.
My husband was as confident as I. He pumped up the water-birthing tub, cleared his schedule and told everyone to expect our little bundle of sweetness. All waited with bated breath.
The day came and went without a flutter.
In fact, three weeks have now passed, and with each midwife visit, I dilate yet another centimeter. I’ve made some (semi-) regular visits to a qualified chiropractor for the Webster technique, I’ve taken walks, I’ve squatted, I’ve Googled the pregnancy salad, eating several at back-to-back meals, and I’ve passed my mucous plug, (oh, joy!) And, I was kept awake half the night last night with 2-minute-long contractions spaced 5 minutes apart. And still, nothing. What gives? I don’t want to be the girl who cried “labor!” but here I am, driving my husband to the edge of expectation and frustration. Each day I feel like it could happen at any time, and yet, my little second son stays put.
Come to think of it, I’ve not-so-subtly accused my husband of losing patience with me, of not being sensitive enough to what I’m going through. However, like his immediate confidence that I’d correctly called my baby’s birth date, his frustration and lack of patience are only a mirror of mine. He’s more in tune with me than I’ve given credit. Must make amends.
I wrote an email to my sister-in-law Michelle (mother of three) pleading for answers. We have a nice comfy crib AND a bassinet AND a vibrating baby lounger for Baby Noah to stretch out in–deluxe accommodations, I promise!–I told her. Truly, it’s gotta be better than hanging upside down in a tight pelvis listening to colonic rumblings, right?
Michelle’s reply: Nope. Not really. Bills are paid. No wet diaps to worry about communicating any desire for a change of in a language that won’t make sense to him for many months. No sibling rivalry. No cold toes, no bug bites, no dietary concerns to have to deal with. Global warming? War in Iraq? Freaky tickle-hyper Elmo dolls? Ha! Who cares?? NO ISSUES!! Obligations? Aside from eventually emerging, nil. Besides, gentle colonic rumblings beat much of the crap (if you will) he’ll have to listen to on The Outside… I’m with Noah. Stay PUT!!!
I have to be honest, I hadn’t looked at it that way. Maybe he’s on to something?
I’m trying each day not to be disappointed. My baby knows the exact time he is supposed to be born. It’s between him and God and not up to me, nor is it up to the Webster technique, or any witchcraft salad (albeit tasty). Honestly, I just need to quit comparing this experience to my first birth and let it be its own thing. I have a lifetime to love my son. Our day will come.