After getting my membranes stripped on Monday morning, I had pretty regular contractions the rest of the day. We got to bed around midnight, contractions about 7-10 mins apart, not lasting more than a couple of seconds. At 3am, I awoke to some relatively harsh pains that refused to stop, even when I asked them to. I got up at about 3:30 and began timing. They were 4 mins apart, 30 seconds long.

I awoke Eric (actually the wind awoke him when it slammed the bedroom door shut, but same difference) at about 4 and let him know what was going on. I tried going back to bed at 5, with them 4 mins/50 seconds. It wasn’t working. We both got up at 6. I called the midwife. I hadn’t wanted to awaken her before that. She said to eat something, take a shower and come on in. So that’s just what we did.

We got there around 8:30. They checked us in, hooked me up to some monitors and answered a million questions that seemed entirely ridiculous to me. L&D admissions came down and asked the same questions all over again, supplied me with an admissions bracelet and gave us our “patient contact number.” Silly me, I thought that meant I wouldn’t be going home.

I was still at 2cm, although my contractions were showing at 3 minutes apart and 90 seconds long. To make an already entirely too long story short, they had me walk about for about 4 hours, checking and stretching (OW) me every hour or so. The farthest I got was 3.5cm, 3 mins, 90 seconds. Unless I wanted to be hooked up to Pitocin right then to get things going, they’d send me home. I went home.

So tomorrow at 7:30am is my induction. I think I may actually have a little fluid leakage but it doesn’t quite matter at this point. His head is so far engaged there’s very little chance of any infection or cord slippage. We’re going to try to get some good sleep in our own bed tonight in preparance for tomorrow’s marathon. Not that I’ll be able to, but it’s better than trying in a hospital.

Another bit of good news, no Cytotec needed! Takes a helluva lot off my mind. I’m still scared of the Pitocin and probably epi, but it’s 100% less horrifying of an idea without the Cytotec crap added. Woohoo!

2 cm dilated and 70% effaced. Hoh yeah! I know it’s not a huge improvement but it’s something, and that is really all that matters.

She stripped my membranes and I had contractions for about an hour afterwards. Then I went on a 30 minute walk, which is supposed to keep contractions going. Make them stronger, even. It didn’t. In fact, it made them stop entirely.

I think my body is officially a rebel.

A bit over 20 inches long, your baby has continued to grow and may now weigh almost 8 pounds. As cozy as he is, your baby can’t stay inside you forever. For your baby’s safety, your practitioner will talk with you about inducing labor if your baby isn’t born in the next week — earlier if there are any problems. Most practitioners won’t let you wait more than two weeks past your due date to give birth because it puts you and your baby at increased risk for complications. About 5 to 6 percent of women have prolonged pregnancies that extend three or more weeks beyond their estimated due dates. Babies born at 42 weeks and beyond can have dry parchment-like skin and are often overweight. Waiting that long to deliver also increases your chance of developing an infection in your uterus that could be dangerous for your baby or of having a stillbirth. What’s more, your labor is more likely to be prolonged or stalled, both you and your baby have an increased risk of injury during a vaginal delivery, and you double your chances of needing a c-section

I knew the castor oil wasn’t going to send me head first into labor. Why’d I try it anyway? Because I was hoping it’d give me enough contractions to cause something, anything to start going on down there. It didn’t and I am never touching castor oil, again.

7:00 pm: Buy 2 Frosties from Wendy’s. Taint with 3oz castor oil each.
7:30 pm: Finish drinking first Frosty.
8:00 pm: Take walk around the block.
9:00 pm: Drink second Frosty
9:30 pm: Speak to mom and grandma on the phone. “Nothing’s happening. I must have dad’s system. Not even a gurgle.”
9:40 pm: Belly says, “GULGKDJGGULDGKJADFSJLK”
9:41 pm: Horrifyingly attached to the toilet. Sweating.
9:45 pm: Think it’s over. Nauseous, lay down.
9:47 pm: It is *not* over…
9:50 pm: Projectile vomit all over Eric’s hand while sitting on the toilet. All remaining castor oil comes up. Eric says, “Well, there’s a first time for everything…”

At least I know my body has an amazing overdose mode. If something gets in that really just ain’t right, it will come out. Full speed with the force of a canon ball no matter who is in the way. Go ahead, laugh. I would.

I’m a little disappointed. Just enough castor oil got in my system to cause a few minutes of toilet time but not enough to cause even the slightest of intestinal or uterine contractions. It did nothing but make me sick. That’d teach me to screw with nature’s plans.

Our NST and AFI is tomorrow. Ben’s not been moving a lot lately, which is worrying me. I think he’s ready to come out and my body’s just not letting him. I have my mother’s overprotective genes.

I’m still praying everyday that he comes before the induction. I will repeat, I’m scared to death of that induction. We’ll be doing a bit of walking today. Then maybe I’ll spend the $30 and get some black and blue cohosh…because apparently getting violently ill the first time around totally wasn’t enough for me.

((Island Girl tagged me with the “Five Things I Dig About Jesus” meme. I am completely de-wittified lately, as the child has eaten my brain, but I am working on it now!))

Today was my 40 week, 5 day appointment. Yesterday my midwife’s office called to confirm today’s appointment.
“Jessica? I just wanted to confirm tomorrow’s appointment at 10am.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“You haven’t had the baby, yet, have you?”
“*sigh* I wish.”
“Oh. Okay. I was hoping we could cancel the appointment. Heh heh heh.”

Yeah, great. Heh heh heh. Being this pregnant in the summer makes me a shitty, unhappy person. I’m not up for jokes. It made me want to rip her head off.

So, all night long I tried to convince myself and my body that it was going to be ready at the appointment tomorrow. I was going to be dilated. I was going to be effaced. I was not going to leave without being checked, without a set and ready plan to have this baby this weekend. I woke up ready for the best, despite my intuition saying otherwise.

We got a midwife I’d never met before. She was very sweet. They’re all very sweet. Well, except one who reminds me a little of a cold nun and who attempts to rip the baby out of me feeling his position. She said, “Well, you’re overdue. Looks like it’s time to check you!”
“That would make my day,” I was probably a little too enthusiastic. “I can’t believe it’d make my day, but it would.”
And that’s exactly what she did. I was much less enthusiastic once I felt exactly what checking was – a hand up to the wrist shoved in the most sensitive spot on earth, while the fingers thump at the most sensitive spot on the most sensitive place on earth.

“Well…let me try to massage your cervix to get a few contractions,” She says. This should NOT be called massage. A massage is something you enjoy, something to relax you and make your life okay. This does not make your life okay. In fact, I’d venture to say that it makes your life so completely un-okay that calling it “massage” should be illegal.

“Okay, well,” she removed her arm from my vagina and helped me up. I was still smiling, I was going to get good news, dammit. “You’re entirely closed and, well, uh, you could be softer.” My smile stayed plastered but I know my eyes turned into puppy-dog-who-was-just-kicked-for-licking-you-eyes. “BUT! It is anterior.”
“Well, that’s good,” smile still plastered. I wanted her to leave. I wanted to cry.

The minute she said I had nothing going on, I felt like a complete failure. I’m tired of being in pain. I’m tried of not being able to sleep. I’m tried of feeling like hell all the time. But those feelings I could deal with. It was the feeling that, at 1 week past my due date (2 weeks, if you go by the original one), I had made no progress that made my eyes well up and my heart stop beating.

NOTHING going on? How is that even possible? Half the pregnant women I talk to have something going on. Some of them are as far away as 3 weeks from their due date. What is wrong with me? Is my pelvis too small for the baby’s head? Is that why it’s not pressing down on anything and I’m not dilating? You know, that happened to my mom. She was too small, she had to have a c-section at 43 weeks, after a failed and extremely painful induction. Is that what’s going to happen? I’m scared of inductions and c-sections. Maybe I’m just not built to have babies. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me or doesn’t trust me. Maybe he’s just waiting for me to say he’s going to be adopted by a loving family in a better home with more money and the absolute competence to take care of him. Eric says this is ridiculous. I still feel dejected.

I know that a baby’s term can be as long as 42 weeks. I know “he’ll come when he’s ready”. I also know my family’s histories of first births and none of them are happy. My grandma nearly died with hers, my mom nearly died with me. I came out via c-section with nearly no amniotic fluid left, covered in meconium and scabs from staying in so long. I know waiting as long as they did to do something about mom’s pregnancy with me nearly ended up killing both of us. Being my child, I don’t know if I can trust that he’ll know when he’s ready.

“Let me call the hospital, see if we can get you in for an induction on Thursday the 12th,” she said it like it was nothing.
“I was hoping you could do it like tomorrow. Heh.”
“We want to give you enough time to go on your own.”
I wanted to say there was no point. There’s something wrong with me. He won’t come before the induction. You’re going to have to induce me and it will go on for days, like my mom’s labor. You’ll figure out that my body is just not made to give birth. You’ll figure this out after days of pain. I’ll end up with an emergency c-section. There just really is no point in trying anything else.
“What we do is use Cytotec the night before, then Pitocin in the morning.”
I flailed. She just said the two scariest words in the English language to me in one sentence. In one sentence that described what they were going to do to me. Cytotec and Pitocin. Cytotec – the cheap, ULCER medication that the manufacturer has repeatedly asked physicians to stop using as a cervix ripener. The medication that causes hyperstimulation of the uterus and uterine rupture. And Pitocin? The one drug everyone agrees is evil and I should knock anyone out that attempts to give it to me.
“Uh, what about Cervadil. I’ve heard some bad things about Cytotec…”
“We don’t use Cervadil in this hospital. We haven’t had any problems with Cytotec. We wouldn’t use it if we did.”
This didn’t make me feel any better.
“I’ll be with you on the 13th.” Here it dawns on me that he’ll be born on Friday the 13th. “And *insert cold midwife with the rip-your-baby-right-out-of-your-belly-hands here* will be with you on the 12th.”

So that’s going to be my birth? Major pain inducing medication, attached to an IV, resigned to being stuck in bed, being watched by the scariest midwife we had, probably ending up with the need for an epidural, and finally a c-section. That’s exactly what I feared the most. That’s exactly what I’m expecting.

She handed me my inducement paper and told me to make an appointment for Monday. A non-stress test, followed by an ultrasound to check amniotic fluid, followed by a regular check-up.

I walked out of the office, trying my hardest not to cry and feeling like a complete failure.

Eric’s been awesome. He keeps trying to ground me, “It’s fine. He’ll come when he’s ready. You will be fine. He will be fine. You’re doing your best and I’m proud of you.”

But I am not proud of me. I’m tired, I’m in pain, I’m dejected, I’m a failure and I feel like a complete jerk for feeling this way.