Oh, Go Induce Yourself

I know that, technically, he has a couple more days at least. According to the first estimated due date, he has another week. And these are all estimates anyway, and we call them “estimated” for a reason.

But seriously? He’s done. The little egg timer went off weeks ago. What could possibly happen in the next few days? He packs on a couple more ounces. Big deal. I have some really warm clothes for him. He’ll be fine.

I’m getting antsy.

And I shouldn’t be. Because the mobile isn’t hung, the house is a mess, I really need a couple more days at the office, the car seat is in the bedroom …

Nesting, by the way, is a lie. That impulse, that burst of energy, that drives a woman beyond her natural motivation to clean and arrange and organize and prepare … it’s a lie. Concocted, I’m convinced, by energetic and potentially OCD women who want to normalize their mania. I’ve been waiting for it to hit for over a month, and it has forsaken me. Things are still messy and undone, and I am still tired.

Preggos, don’t believe the lie. Make a plan. Work the plan. The magic will not come. You have not been chosen. There is no red pill. 

Most of my life is completely unprepared, but still – I’m getting antsy.

I also know that almost all of the little DIY methods to start labor are old wives tales, and that people who know about studies and biology will point out that there is no reason to expect any of them to work.

But I deliberately got spicy sausage for my pasta last night (and this afternoon – hooray for left-overs). It, of course, has done nothing so far but give me indigestion. (At least I think it was indigestion. I’ve never had indigestion, but I felt like the funny faces that people make on commercials for drugs that are supposed to prevent indigestion. And when I explained my symptoms to Husband, he agreed with my diagnosis. Another first. Hip hip …)

And I deliberately bounced like an eager toddler on our silly exercise ball (or “evil orb,” as Husband likes to call it) while we watched a movie tonight. That, of course, has done nothing so far but make my butt a little sore. I think I put too much air in it.

Still, I love fielding suggestions from people about walking and primrose oil and red raspberry leaf tea, etc. (Except when people start fielding suggestions about, ahem, wink wink, you know — long awkward stare — Yes, I do know. Ahem Wink Wink is how we got here in the first place, but you can save your Ahem Wink Wink ’cause that is so not happening. I don’t know how anyone tries Ahem Wink Wink after 39 weeks, but they’re better wives than I.)

I love most suggestions, because while it’s all so useless, it is, at least, entertaining. And it makes me feel like I’m doing something – the way that driving half-way around town to avoid traffic makes you feel like you’re doing something even though it would have been faster to just sit in a little traffic.

But I always choose to drive half-way around town, and so I’ll probably sprinkle hot sauce on my cereal in the morning and eat it perched atop my exercise ball.

What’s the craziest labor-inducing rumor you’ve heard? Mommies, what did you try? Share!