I was pretty lucky when it came to labor. I went into labor a week and a half early with my first son (he weighed 8lbs, 14oz at birth). My second son was induced a week early due to the same growth patterns. My third son was born on his due date. So like I said, pretty lucky when it came to labor. But I know plenty of women who are disappointed and uncomfortable when their due dates come and go.
My friend was anxious as her due date approached. She was pregnant with her first baby and didn’t know if she was having a boy or girl. Her due date approached and then it passed. She began to grow frustrated and silently begged her baby to come out. Finally her doctor scheduled an induction date a week past her due date.
She tried to stay positive but the anticipation was really weighing on her. I attempted to be cheerful and upbeat when we spoke but could tell that her frustration was getting the best of her. I couldn’t blame her. Towards the end of my pregnancies, I felt extremely bloated, couldn’t go fifteen or twenty minutes without a bathroom break, and was tired all the time yet couldn’t sleep due to pregnancy insomnia. My skin itched where my belly was stretched to its limit and my feet had swollen almost three sizes bigger. During my first pregnancy, I sat up in the middle of the night, hung my swollen feet over the edge of the bed and poked my basketball stomach as I sobbed in desperation, “Come out! Come out!” He didn’t come out. He didn’t even stop moving long enough to know that I was upset. My baby was far into his nighttime ritual of jumping, kicking and elbowing me continuously. (I pattern that I didn’t realize would continue after he was born. Not the kicking, but I did find that it was consistent with the times that he would wake to eat after birth. Pregnant women take note.)
So as a supportive friend, I called her the morning before her induction. Much to my surprise, her voice cracked as she answered the phone. She began to cry as she told me that she had been bumped by the hospital.