sex! sex sex sex, sex sex ss sex sex

as the number one suggestion to bring on the labor. runners up:

2. sex and wine (half a glass, of course)
3. paul should 'stimulate' (ooh, so technical) my nipples during an entire football game. then we should pretend i'm the center and he's the qb and "hut" the baby out. (this one wins for laughability)
4. watch or listen to particularly moving movies or music
5. walk laps around my house, rigorously clean
6. whack it (still sex? i guess so....)

of all of these, only #4 sounds appealing. i am supremely lethargic, in limbo, tired and worn out with pregnancy. any active action seems insurmountably difficult. i regard sex as an act of pure lunacy at this point, something that might kill me.

having the baby also seems abstract now. about two weeks ago was the 'peak of readiness,' a high point of excitement and preparedness and emotional and mental stability. now doubt has shadowed things a lot. i worry all is not well. i fear the unnaturalness of induction, but prefer it infinitely to the dreaded "C". the baby squirms and kicks with zest, i think it is struggling for the way out, become convinced that somehow my body isn't capable of progressing into labor. i feel let down, cheated, having done all the right things till now then having to get frickin induced??? not fair. nothing i can do. any little thing is a 'sign,' yet i've been teased by twinges so often that i know it's not 'the real thing' every time. and so it seems this baby will never come. that we're 'not really' going to be parents. that december 10th, then 20th, then christmas will come around, and i'll still be this pregnant, still waiting. and of course having those thoughts is a kind of big scare unto itself--no self-fulfilling prophecies, please. no macabre foreshadowing.

i would love it so if there was some root i could chew to make it happen, some rare, not necessarily delicious fruit i could tear apart, and then it would happen. sarsparilla, maybe?

mine and the baby's time in the same vessel is drawing to a close. it has been a miraculous, ordinary, extraordinary time, one in which i am quite honestly at this point excited to end. why?

1. people say things (in a cooing tone) like 'what a cute belly you have' look, bitch, last night i slept about 2 hours, felt like all the cold water in the ocean wouldn't quench my heartburn, and had gas to rival bush's private stores. even that newborn panda does not appear 'cute' to me.

2. "is it a boy or girl?" has been on repeat for about the last six months. i should have made a puff paint t-shirt with 'i don't know' written across the belly. in a neutral color, of course.

3. goddamnit, i don't care if it's trashy, i would really LOVE a freezing. cold. beer.

4. sex again would be grand (though i guess that's what got me here in the FIRST place). sigh........someday........you know, when the STITCHES heal.

5. my walk may again come to resemble my own, not a penguin's. i can put on an article of clothing that might actually make me feel like a human female (as opposed to a saint bernard). boots with heels. any shoe with heels.

6. i am going to be the best damn mama this world has seen, or at least western new york.

7. #3



phew, that felt pretty good, to complain! now perhaps i can do less of it to my family tomorrow. have a wonderful holiday, to anyone who is reading this, and a frosty cold one for me (i count as two, actually. maybe 3).

the baby has been doing trapeze artist tricks in there, and it creates the god-weirdest ache in my cervix. 'ow, my cervix' is a curious thing to be saying a few times a day. i cannot quite tell which body part is causing the sharp one-two jabs. all of them, i think.

here is a tiny rhyme about it:

my baby floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee
it's my cervix vs. muhammed ali
punch and jab and kick and spar
out of myself is beaten the tar.



also, i'm so sentimental these days. over the weekend i almost started crying because of takeo spikes's achilles tendon thing. i don't even know what the man looks like, that's how much i follow football. but man, that's a tough row to hoe.