Two in There!


turn, baby, turn
September 6, 2009, 7:21 pm
Filed under: babies

I’m 31 weeks and 3 days with the boys now, and I have my 32 week growth scan and consultant appointment tomorrow, when I will find out if my little transverse monkey has performed a miracle act of spatial manoeuvrability and turned head down like a good little baby. Given his previous for mooning us during scans, chilling with his feet up by his ears and evading all attempts at foetal monitoring (and about giving his poor mother a heart attack in the process), I’m not getting my hopes up. I think he’s probably still quite happily lounging in his little uterine hammock, blissfully unaware that he’s setting himself up to be rather impolitely yanked out of his bubble in a matter of weeks. Boys will be boys!

After my previous consultant appointment I’d pretty much resigned myself to the inevitability of the boys coming out of the sunroof, but in the past week or so I’ve found myself challenging that idea somewhat; I shan’t give in to the slice and dice until I have exhausted every trick in the book!

Well, every trick that doesn’t sound deeply unpleasant to a woman nearing the size of a beluga, that is. Standing on my head in a swimming pool? Are you having a giraffe? Have you seen the size of me lately? If you think this 12 stone, immobile lump of woman is going in any direction other than forward, you’re clearly mental. Thanks for that nugget of wisdom, spinningbabies! Additionally, the idea of having what can only be described as hot, odourless joss sticks held at close-range to my pinky toes, while some pins are stuck in me, doesn’t fill me with glee. I’ve been going down the route of ‘bum higher than hips’ and ‘spine neutral or forward’, coupled with lots of crawling about like a pregnant pony, with a nip of bum wiggling and pelvic thrusts thrown in for good measure. Have also been giving my boy a bit of a pep talk (pleading with him in the middle of the night while he uses my hips as bouncy toys), and so if that doesn’t work, I’ll officially give up, cast aside my clothes and underwear (bye-bye dignity!) don my gown and walk bare-arsed into the theatre myself.

Having become quite accustomed to the notion of waltzing into theatre and having my two promptly and efficiently whisked into the world with minimum effort on my part, not so much as a pant or a puff (one does start looking for the positives in major abdominal surgery!), I’ve discovered a renewed desire for a natural, faff-free birth. I know that probably sounds mad to some; the notion of actually wanting to endure another labour and push not one, but two little people out of my unsuspecting ladybits in not-necessarily quick succession; it’s probably enough to make you cross your legs at the thought. I know I certainly have at points over the last 8 months. Though somehow I find myself typing this on all fours, leaning across my coffee table,  hoping gravity will come to my aid and flip this little boy around, so we can do this in all it’s natural, sweaty, lengthy, pooing-on-the-floor-in-front-of-strangers glory. I’ve suddenly come over all protective of my innards, and I’d rather they weren’t being fiddled with. Of course if he hasn’t obliged his mother dear, then I will be having a cesarean, and there’s sod all I can do about it. I shouldn’t grumble, it’s all about what is safest for my babies, though I can’t help coming over all lachrymose at the thought of being denied a chance to do as my body was made to.

So, if you could all send your best flippy thoughts to monkey number 1, it would be much appreciated! Roll on 10:30am when I’ll find out if it’s labour or lay back!

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