Curse Of The Lazy Uterus

My friend Bridget is in the last days of her fifth pregnancy. She is a lot like me, in the sense that she has tried desperately to keep from getting pregnant, to no avail. She loves her kids very much. She even home schools them, which is far beyond my capabilities and patience. However, she has been in dire need of a baby break and the good Lord had other plans for her.

She is currently in the same state that I have been in many times. For those of you who have been there, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Those last few days of pregnancy, when you feel like your skin is going to split in half, you can't sleep, can't fit food in your belly, can't stand for very long, can't keep up with the other kids who are running amok and eating cookies for breakfast because you are too exhausted to give a damn. She is also like me in the sense that she is notorious for going past her due date. We call our uteruses lazy. They never seem to be up for the task of starting labor on their own. In fact...I clearly recall a time:

I was a week overdue with Phillip. I was freaking miserable. I would lay awake all night with contractions. I would think that they were the start of labor. Come day break, they would subside. This was going on for days and I was ready to reach up and break my own damn amniotic sac. Bridget called to check on me and I was almost in tears. She offered to help me out. At this point, I was ready to try anything. Daniel had convinced me that sex would surely put me into labor, but all that it had done was make my already sore perineum, even sorer and make me fell like a circus freak contortionist. Sex is no small feat when you are sporting a giant beach ball stomach.

Bridget brought over a bottle of castor oil and some orange gatorade. She told me that it would either put me into labor, or make me puke. It was well worth the risk. I chugged a few spoonfuls. It was like melting a few tubes of chapstick and drinking them. I gag even thinking about it now. Thirty minutes later, my stomach started grumbling. Then it started hurting. Was it labor? No. It was the beginning of violent diarrhea. Apparently the dehydration from violent diarrhea is supposed to cause the uterus to contract...and it did. I called Daniel to come home because I couldn't even get off of the toilet.

Eight hours later, I was laying in the hospital bed, waiting to see my doctor. I knew that he would call me crazy and admit me. Then he would start some pitocin and I would finally be out of my misery. I was right about one thing. The doctor did call me crazy. Then he checked me and sent me home. I was only in false labor and seriously dehydrated. I cried all the way home. My stomach was sore, I was exhausted beyond belief and my rear end was not happy. A week (that felt like one long year) later, the doctor finally induced my labor and I had Phillip.

Moral of the story...no matter how badly you want to get that baby out, do not resort to drastic measures. The only thing that is guaranteed to start labor is mother nature and your doctor. Trust me on this one. I never tried castor oil again, but I did try every other remedy known to man. By my last pregnancy, I conceded to the fact that I would never be able to have my baby before its due date and nothing was going to change that. I always had to wait for induction and accept that my lazy uterus was not good at starting labor. Then, much to my shock, my water broke two weeks early when I was pregnant with Reed. God has a great sense of humor, doesn't he? Hang in there Bridget and step away from the castor oil!