(Or were we not supposed to try them all at the same time?)
The above would make it plainly obvious that we're still sitting and waiting and wondering when young Rufous will grace us with his presence. (It really is a trifle boring son.) Hence we've experimented with various methods, including a sub-set of the following:
1) Sex. The story goes that this is a sure fire winner cos dad's pearl jam contains prostaglandin (synthetic prostaglandin is the stuff used to induce labour) and the female orgasm is contraction-like. Sounds good to me.
However a somewhat significant dent in the theory is a recent study (Schiffer et al 2006) that suggests people having sex after 37 weeks actually have a slightly longer pregnancy. (Though the difference is not statistically signifcant.) On the bright side though, another study (Tan et al 2006) suggest that having regular sex after 37 weeks tends to reduce the need for mums to be induced at 41 weeks. So, doesnt appear to work instantly, but can't hurt overall. Yup... far more DIY science required.
2) Spicy food. AB cooked up a mean green veal curry (with thinly sliced red capsicum, zucchini, carrot, coconut cream, a little fish sauce and touch of sugar, stirred through singapore noodles...) all to no avail. About all such a meal would probably do is make the labour induced nausea etc even more annoying and likely to piss off mum-to-be when she tastes it for the second time around in the labour ward. Not to mention the Jonny Cash effect ("....and it burns burns burns, the ring of fire, the ring of fire..").
The curry was damn good if you dont mind me saying so... (and the noodles suitably high carb, which would actually help energy levels through the labour itself).
3) Go for a long brisk walk. Well we've been doing this nearly every day just cos we're officially bored out of our skulls hanging around at home/the beach is relatively close, and as yet, it appears to have done sod all cept wear out the Dunlop volleys. Sure, lotsa stretching and loosening up of the nethers is prolly a good thing, but as for getting Ruf out; seems like its got Buckley's.
4) Wait for the full moon. "You know, like, the moon governs the tides, like, and the baby is in water and, like, man, tides like pull water and, like, this will get the labour started.... dude." Oh poppycock. Do the scale analysis (dude). And being Easter, which is all about the moon (oh yeah, and some religous bloke and a cross) we should therefore have popped days ago. The moon... ay kurumba.
5) Mow the lawn. The pet theory of someone who has more intelligence than one might expect for someone proposing such a methodology, though granted his kid did come 5 weeks early when he wasnt even in town. Then again, it does have both pushing and walking, and it gets your lawn all peachy for added effect. Ok, maybe we'll try this when we get a little more rain (mmmm...), a little more grass, and hence a little more Victa resistance. As it stands, you may as well mow the concrete.
6) Orange juice and castor oil. The idea here is that you scoll this concoction down and if it doesnt come right back at ya, then it'll come right out of the back of ya. The subsequent and some may say uncontrollable desire to fully evacuate the poop-chute at regular intervals will also translate into a desire to empty other parts of the female anatomy- e.g., the womb. We arent all that keen to try this as we have a 40 minute drive ahead of us, dependant upon traffic, and mum-to-be doesnt want to be caught short. Or get it caught in her shorts.
7) Neck massage - see the previous post and the nice Chinese massage man. Seems some people believe that there are certain pressure points on the body which can induce labour. However none of these seem to include the neck, shoulders or back, and hence said nice Chinese massage man was probably just worried about his shag pile if the waters burst by chance. We've now been rubbing Mistress P at a spot 4 "mothers-fingers" above the inside ankle for at least 1 minute and are yet to induce a single contraction. What a dud. What would 2000 years of Chinese medicine/a billion people know anyway??
(PS: Now Mistress P tells us that she was riding her bike all funnylike cos a pressure point for labour is also in between the thumb and forefinger - and I thought she was just all "hey mum, no hands!" just cos she was a ruddy great showoff...)
8) "Jump up and down..." the nice stranger yelled to us at the Ricketts Point cafe when they overheard us telling some friends that we were actually due days ago. Thanks, but Mistress P's internals/our house stumps are only so strong.
9) Take a long drive on a bumpy road. Sorry... the Ruby Sub-a-rooby is just too smooooooth on the gravel. Maybe when we get the "sporty" (read no suspension) Corolla back from Mistress P's visiting mum...
10) Dangle a Tim Tam down "there". We're not sure whether this is a Kaz Cooke'ism or just the deluded suggestion of a Tim Tam crazed work collegue, but the idea is to tempt the bugger by wafting joys of the outer world by his "front door". As AB correctly observed, Rufous is a bloke and his father's son, ipso-facto, a donut would be a far more useful food stuff for "dangling". (It didnt work. NB: We only tried cinnamon.)
11) "Get her to wash your mates car." I suspect this was simply so said mate (hello JM) could get his car washed. Doesnt he know such activity is illegal in this drought?
"Mate, they wouldn't arrest a pregnant women..."
Further ideas welcome any time. (But maybe not from JM.)
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Postscript: Sunday 8 April
Since the post above it has also been suggested that we try giving mum-to-be a ruddy great shock. Well we can now confidently say that that does sweet-fanny-adams as well...
Mistress P and AB went for a little stroll by the Yarra River, from Bellbird picnic ground along the gravel walkway under the grey-headed flying fox camp (the ones chased from the Bot Gardens a cupla years back). When they arrived at the end of the formed path they continued on the well worn goat track by the edge of the river, heading upstream, with Mistress P taking the lead.
All of a sudden AB spotted it.
"STOP!!!"
Mistress P dutifully stopped...
...with her foot (in protective thongs) landing literally four inches directly in front of a 3 foot long (tiger or eastern brown) snake that was basking in the sun beside the track. {Olive grey on top, yellowish below, smallish head.}
Shite.
"GO!" said AB!
Mistress P stepped forward at the same instant the snake spun and headed into the bushes. It was only then that she got a view of it too - and subsequently almost pooped herself. (As did AB.)
With apologies to Steve Irwin, and with a modicum of understatement: "Crikey."
(But still no baby...) Print this post
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