Still pregnant......

I have been pregnant now for 156 weeks. Yes, that’s right, three years. Well it certainly feels that way and with an induction date (tomorrow at 2pm if you’re the praying, lighting blessed candle type of person) looming I will try anything, ANYTHING, to get this baby to arrive au naturale.
This week I’ve taken advice from friends, family, people in shop queues and Facebook pals on the best ways to induce labour. Some of my fellow pregnant ladies will be well aware of the usual, desperate measure labour triggers, but I have to say if laughter and total bewilderment brought on contractions I’d have had this baby two weeks ago, so strange were some of the suggestions.
A friend of mine swears that watching Jaws II brought on her labour both times. Not Jaws I or Jaws III mind, it has to be Jaws II. She went into labour an hour after watching the film with both her sons. Another friend swears by Father Ted, she laughed so much her waters broke.
Another friend advised me that cutting the front lawn in terribly unflattering and ill-fitting swimming attire brought on labour with her daughter with hours. Another friend advised me to plan something important. When she organised her brother’s surprise 40th birthday party celebrations, she took off to the hospital 10 minutes before the party started and her brother shared her new son’s birthdates.
My sister cried so inconsolably with happiness when Peter Andre got to number one with his relaunched Mysterious Girl single that she had her second son that night.
Swinging on the swings at the park seems to have a good success rate, as does impersonating a horse (as in galloping in a horsey-type fashion down a preferably bumpy road), salsa dancing while eating hot curry, a good old-fashioned pray and getting a fright.
At this stage in the game all of those suggestions seem like a little too much hard work. Praying seems to be the less strenuous of them, and the good Lord knows I’ve been on the line with him many, many times in the last few days but unfortunately my begging prayers and promises to actually go to mass (not just lazily contemplate it) EVERY Sunday for the rest of my life have been thus far ignored.
Back in the day, when a pregnant native American woman was near term and showed no sign of going into labour, tribe members would tie her to a rock in an open field and stage a mock ‘attack,’ pulling up their horses only at the very last minute, in hopes of inducing labour. The Pilgrims, for their part, would stand women whose babies were late against a pole, strap them to it, and shake it about a bit hoping to shake that baby loose. Hey, they’re unconventional but I’ve contemplated jogging on the beach while eating fresh pineapple and even bungee jumping. I’ll give anything a go once.
As you read this I’ve sent my husband out to the darkest depths of the garden shed to fetch the car jump leads. It got our old 1997 Astra back on the road when it broke down on the Glenshane Pass, it’s bound to work on this baby.
Wish us luck.