Little Buddy, Your Term Is Up With No Chance Of Renewal
I know, I know. Not another pregnant post. But come on. I keep hoping that if I bitch about it enough, he’ll just come out already. Do you hear that Little Buddy? Your time is up. Check out time. Eviction notice. I don’t care if your official due date is still a couple of weeks away. Out!
Oh, there are a few things that we can try to encourage him out, but it seems as though we keep encountering a few roadblocks along the way. But here they are, in random order. Oh…..and if vagina talk makes you squeamish in the morning go find something else to read. There are a lot of cookie references coming up.
1. Membrane Sweep
The good old stretch and sweep. Don’t know what this is? Count yourself lucky. A doctor or midwife sticks their hand into your uterus and rubs the baby’s head. Tries to separate the amniotic sac from your uterus. It’s supposed to release some shit that makes you go into labour.
Does it work? Maybe. I had it done a couple of times with Destroyer.
The trouble is, my doctor is away. I feel sort of weird asking the new guy or gal to handle my vanaynay and give me uterus massages on the first date though. “Hi, nice to meet you. When you’re done taking my blood pressure would you mind going in for a sweep? I had a bath and shaved and everything, honest.”
It just feels awkward.
There are some do it yourself sites on the internet. I’m not fucking joking. Probably even a YouTube video. I’m not sure if Husband is up for it though. Bestie? Bestie?
2. Get him out the same way you got him in
If you know what I mean.
It’s only sexy if we close our eyes. Because of the beached whale in the room. The universe revolves around my stomach. My boobs sit on it, and it hangs over where my crotch used to be. I am the poster child for sexy.
In other news, our toddler has given up her nap since about 2 weeks ago. So if anyone has any suggestions as to what to do with Captain Cockblock, I’m all ears.
3. Spicy food
I’m all for the spicy food. What I’m not up for is the bloating, gas and heartburn it produces after. Maybe the trick is to eat so much of it that I fart the baby out.
No. Because go fuck yourself, that’s why. My belly sways back and forth like an elephant trunk and it’s hot and my feet are swollen and didn’t I already say go fuck yourself? Yeah. I’m busy gestating. And that IS a verb. Husband looked it up.
5. Glass of Wine
This totally didn’t work, but the heartburn it produced was absolutely worth it. And to all you crazy fucks out there about to give me a FAS lecture, go and read the literature coming out of Europe on the subject.
Oh. And go fuck yourself too.
Did I miss anything? Should I try horseback riding? Trampoline? Roller Coaster? Don’t suggest acupuncture, because that’s never going to happen.
Maybe if I wrote a formal letter of eviction and held it up to my stomach with a flashlight, he would get the point.
Either way, it HAS to be soon. It just isn’t possible for a human body to stretch any more than this. Soon. Please.