What a load of BH!

Well, I don't believe it! - as Victor Meldrew liked to say!

The infamous and grumpy Victor Meldrew from British TV
classic sitcom One Foot in the Grave.

It's Thursday morning and today I don't feel even the slightest twinge. Not a tingle or a tightening - not even a trump. Nothing... absolutely nada!

What a tease she's already turning out to be! 

After the warning bells she's been giving me since Saturday and the dry-run yesterday, I'm totally baffled. Maybe this is the calm before the storm....

We're already into August. That's totally blown Momma's "She'll be a July baby for sure.." out of the water. I was convinced she'd be an early bird.

Tomorrow we'll be at 39 weeks exactly, and my sister-in-law/fabulous friend/birthing buddy will be heading out of state. *sigh...

The best things come to those who wait - Bah! Only if we're talking about Draft Guinness.

I need to stop anticipating it - maybe our excitement keeps scaring her back inside!

Like the Doc said - don't say anything to anyone, then she'll be here. Or plan a fun day out that's just begging to be spoiled. Sod's law she'll coordinate her arrival to rain on her big bros' parade.

I like how we're already predicting she'll be an awkward little sod.. but most girls are, aren't they?

The last of our summer visitors from Across The Pond took off to pastures new (Dallas) last Friday, without any sign of our Little Miss making her appearance.

And I'd been so convinced she'd be here at least to see them off.

Then Saturday night I felt the first real twinge - not quite a contraction, but a familiar tummy tightening all the same that put all my sensors on high alert. I couldn't help letting the hubs in on my excitement.

"I think we'll be meeting her tomorrow...."

The sensation didn't go away. It stayed until I fell asleep. I awoke in the morning somewhat surprised and perplexed that she hadn't arrived during the night. I was even more surprised not to be in labor and that the feeling had completely vanished. I'm telling you... tease!

It happened again Sunday night too. I was more hesitant about building the hubs' hopes up that time.

I wouldn't have said they were contractions (at least what I know contractions to be) - not even what I assume Braxton-Hicks contractions would feel like - just slight tummy cramping that goes hand-in-hand with the early onset pangs I'd felt before both boys started their journeys.

I never had Braxton-Hicks with the boys.

I was very surprised - and a little disappointed - to be making it to yet another prenatal check on Monday. I was super keen, however, to let the Doc check-out my dilation status.

What with the teasingly tight tummy sensations I'd been having at the weekend, and the overwhelming force pushing down on my punani, I was half-way convinced that after taking one glance at my vagina she'd be rushing me across to the maternity ward and they'd all be yelling 'push' by the end of the appointment.

Not so the case. In fact I was still a non-starter. No progress in 2 weeks. 1-2 cm dilated. 60% effaced, uterus still posterior. Humph.

I'd likely been feeling Braxton-Hicks (the Doc affirmed).

Even though I know the numbers don't matter one iota - and I know it will happen at anytime now - I can't help but feel a tad bit disappointed. I'm just an eager beaver - and I know the hubs is ancy to meet his daughter.

I was, once again, incredibly surprised - but not at all disappointed - to make it to my prenatal massage on Tuesday. At almost 39 and a half weeks there's no longer any need to exercise caution on those labor inducing pressure points. On the contrary.. have at it!!

My massage was wonderful (thank you Mommy friend), and by bedtime Tuesday night it was looking like my magical massage had done the trick!

No contractions - just a lot of pre-labor sensations - whatever the hell they are!

But Momma wasn't feeling up to a night labor, and for the first time (this pregnancy) I kind of crumpled in front of the hubs, admitting all my worst fears. It's not something I usually do. I don't want to freak the poor guy out after all.

My sleep had been erratic the previous two nights and having missed out on my day naps, the lack of sleep was catching up to me. With my head banging - a combination of sleep deprivation and dehydration, and an untimely bout of the worst gas and indigestion hitting me hard I was terrified of the ultimate pain challenge I thought I was about to face.

I told Daddy that I was considering taking an Ibuprofen. When he responded that he thought that was a good idea I stared at him utter dumbfounded.

Nuh-uh! Total and utter fail and we're not even off the starting block! What planet is Daddy on? Has he not read my birth plans... all three of them!

NO MEDS!!!

Now a glass of a wine... THAT's not bad idea...

OK, so we weren't actually in labor yet - exactly - but we could have been at any minute. His quick-to-supply-pills response to my first admission of weakness was not the answer I wanted.

Of course I'm not taking a bloody pill now! I've gone 9 months without...

I reminded him of our pain threshold code word (Scooby-Doo).

I wasn't intentionally testing Daddy. I shouldn't have mentioned pain killers if I didn't really want them right? WRONG! 

The advice behind a code word is sound (I got it out of some hocus-pocus natural birthing book). When we're in pain we're not always in our right frame of mind and it's likely we'll ask (or more likely scream) for help we wouldn't want if we were able to think straight.

A code word protects us from undesirable consequences. It makes us pause and really think about what we're asking of our loved ones and the professionals.

OK, so we're only talking about a bit of headache and a few trapped farts here but the same principal still applies - at least when I'm 9 months pregnant.

Incidentally, Daddy's dinner should have gone to the dogs.

What?! I'm 9 months pregnant -  Of course I'm a bit meaner!!

Both kids new better than to eat it. They both tried it before pushing it away in disgust (actually little kid floored his - literally). They've had it before - just a simple chicken stir-fry, souped up with mixed flavorings and peanut butter - and it's been a massive hit. Only last night Daddy way overdid it on the peanut butter.

He just couldn't help emptying that jar. I think it's an affliction we all have. We might as well use it up than waste the little bit that's left. Let's just ruin dinner instead, eh!

It definitely wasn't Daddy's finest work - no I'm not being mean. Daddy was the first to say it. Actually Momma was the only one to devour it.

Friends' Joey diggin'  Rachel's Trifle disaster while Ross
looks on in disgust!

I'm not picky - I would have been right there with Friends' Joey eating a trifle/shepherd's pie combo!

I'm also always hungry - even when I'm not pregnant. The first bowlful doesn't usually touch the sides. I'm usually already polishing off my seconds before my taste-buds have come around to the conclusion that dinner wasn't too crash hot.

It was a mistake though - as I found out soon enough. I'm not sure if it's fair to blame Daddy's dinner (it may have had more to do with the veggie-chips I annihilated at lunchtime), but whatever - the persecuting pain that followed in my chest, tum and gut was almost unbearable!

It felt like bubbles of gas - having found insufficient room in my intestinal track and tummy - were trying to hide out any place they could squeeze into.

A fairly close representation of Momma
on Tuesday night!

Holding my arms above my head and belching like Barny off the Simpsons was about all I could do to abate the pain.

But that instantaneous relief was only temporary. I was pulling the nastiest baritone belches from some inner gassy place, I never knew existed, well into the early hours of Wednesday morning.

Right up until the contractions started.

After belching out the last of the gas a little after midnight, I managed to squeeze a wee snooze in before I woke up at 3:30am - with my tummy cramping. My first feeling was relief - thank God the gruesome gas saga was over!

Once the wave of tummy pain had subsided the little lady started moving - really moving. So much so, that I got a little worried about her. Adding up all my symptoms in my sleep deprived brain had me panicking that she'd got herself tangled up in the chord - perhaps the cramping wasn't labor pains but something else....

She soon calmed down enough for me to calm down also and we both fell back to sleep. Then sure enough, only 20 minutes later I felt the cramping again. THIS was it.

Awesome. Perfect timing - after the worst night's sleep ever!

I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon so I got comfy on the couch instead and attempted to watch a bit of Netflix. Of course big kid saw me on his early morning trip to Momma's bed.

But Momma's bed wasn't no fun without Momma in it - and seeing the flashing light box on the go - he was eager to snuggle up beside me and commandeer the TV. I almost managed to flick off The Inbetweeners before the shagging started... almost.

Thomas the Tank Engine it was then! I could have put him back to bed if I'd wanted to - but I really wanted his company.

I refrained from waking Daddy - in spite of my fear of a speedy labor (after the last one) - I was fairly sure we'd be OK until at least 5am. The contractions were every 20 minutes or so and not very strong - very reminiscent of the start of my eldest's birth.

Daddy had been awake until the early hours also. I think he was a little awed - albeit mostly disgusted - by Mommy's marvelous manly belches.

By 5am our big kid desperately needed to get back to bed and Mommy was already wiped out. I let Daddy know 'something' was happening, and passed the baton so he could put big kid back down.

I laid down and tried to get some much-needed shut eye. I was going to need it. Eventually - with a little help in the form of a foot rub from Daddy - I started snoozing, but the waves of pain had me opening my eyes and focusing on the red numbers on our digital clock every ten minutes or so.

I was progressing.

By 7am they were strong enough to prevent me from falling back to sleep. I didn't want to false-start anyone, but as a courtesy we let our babysitting troop and birth buddy know where things apparently stood.

Remembering in a bit of a panic that I hadn't 'mowed my lawn' so to speak, Daddy ran a warm deep bath, and prepped bags, brekkie and the like, while Momma had a date with a razor in the tub.

Baby boy (he won't be 'baby' much longer) was awake and on top form, completely unaware of the little cuckoo that would soon be sharing his nest...

I shaved and bathed, and ate my toast, while Daddy hovered over me, eager for the next contraction update...

Nothing.

The dull achy tight feeling remained. But the promising waves that had been strong and regular only moments earlier seemed to have relented. Without pausing to analyse the sudden change of pace, I gladly dived under my covers desperate to recharge my battered batteries.

I  fully expected to be pushing by noon and I wanted to have the strength to give it my all.

I snoozed on and off for an hour or so and I awoke to some pain closer to 9am - much weaker than earlier though. I assumed my bath had slowed them down.

When I entered the cabin, Daddy looked eagerly over at me for a contraction update. I put him off not wanting to break any bad news to him before I knew the scoop myself. Small waves of pain continued at erratic intervals but nothing to write home about. It was a false alarm.

Daddy was crushed, which in turn had me feeling crushed. I hate to disappoint him - or anybody else for that matter. And I was super keen to 'deliver' - especially on these goods!

The tightening feelings hadn't completely dissipated though, so we stayed on stand-by for the rest of the day. It's not over until the fat lady sings - and this fat lady wasn't about to break out in tune just yet...

Momma took at least five naps - falling into bed and fast asleep like only a Daddy knows how.

By late afternoon we were pretty clear it a false alarm. We're convinced I was experiencing my first Braxton-Hicks - although following two fast flow labors, I've got to say they were no different to the real deal.

For some reason or other Mother Nature keeps on cancelling the show. I'm guessing she realized one of her Momma comrade-in-arms was in desperate need of sleep catch-up.

Last night we all got a good 8 hours shut-eye and we're feeling much better for it. I don't think sleep can be stock-piled though, so there's no time like the present.

C'mon, oh wise Mother Nature - and my teasing tummy tenant! Now we're all rested up, and ready and rearing to go - it's game on!

And so we wait..............