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With Libbie, I had no signs of labor, ever, until I actually starting having contractions. I mean, I had your normal Braxton-Hicks stuff, but seriously, nothing else. I didn’t lose my mucus plug. I didn’t bleed. I didn’t have a backache. I wasn’t dilated. It just started.
And then it lasted forever. But you know that story.
Since Thursday, I have had every labor sign you can think of, including contractions that are steady. But then they taper off.
At my appointment on Thursday, my midwife threatened to just go ahead and admit me (and likely induce) if I were contracting at all on Monday.
That’s tomorrow. I thought for sure she wouldn’t need to do that; I was positive this baby was coming out this weekend.
He’s still in there.
I’m not sure which version of labor is more frustrating! That said, it’s not even my due date yet. I don’t want to be induced. I want to be patient. I am trying to ignore that there’s this thing called Christmas on Saturday it would be nice to be home for.
I know many women who would kill to take my place: bearing a child, a 100% healthy baby boy, with no complications, to full-term. I am trying to praise God for this baby instead of begging Him to PLEASE LET ME GO INTO LABOR ALREADY, DANG IT!
I’ve baked a lot of cookies and taken a lot of naps. I’ve played Crazy Cakes on Pogo relentlessly. I have sat on my birth ball.
I will wait. Whether I like it or not.