41 Weeks Pregnant - Over Cooked Chicken With Krispy Kreme As Standard

So.... I am cooking a Chicken Kiev.

The packet stated 40 minutes. Thought it was a tad long, but who am I to question the instructions? So I put it in the oven for 40 long minutes. It came to be time to take it out - but the Kiev appears to not want to come out. The Chicken Kiev has decided it is not cooked. It tells me it is calling the shots and will come out when it's good and ready. I don't know when this will be - evidently it's not up to me - it's up to the kiev.

The above is an analogy. Hopefully it doesn't require too much explanation.

I am now a week over due from my (what many people keep telling me is the ESTIMATED) due date. How helpful. I can't sleep and I have crippling heartburn and nausea like I did back in the early weeks. I feel anxious and I am writing this to you at 3am.

I can get away with typing on my laptop in my bedroom at this hour because my partner is once again sleeping in the spare room. He pretends he is doing this out of consideration for me. I know better. He is doing this so that:

1. He has more space - as I now take up 92% of the mattress* 
2. He won't be asked 21 times to roll over because he is breathing in my face*
3. He won't be woken up 34 times in the night by me getting up to go to the toilet* 
4. There will be no risk of me accosting him in the night in an attempt to kick start labour. 

*All statistics are made up. 

I think any amorous activities in the boudoir are well and truly out of the question at this stage. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bedroom mirror during one romantic clinch recently and I resembled an advert on Channel 4 for an episode of "Fat Fetishes". 

This is Stacey, she is 23 years old and weighs 32 stone and insists she is perfectly healthy and normal. 

You are not healthy Stacey. And you are not normal. The clue is that you are on a program called 'fetishes'. 

There are more terrifying cautionary baby tales in the Newspaper this week like the story of how a Fox tore off a baby's finger. It appeared to have brazenly wandered into the house and tried to pull the baby out of its Cot. Oddly my Mother has not called me to detail the very clear and present dangers of 'Urban Foxes' - but she might be sensing that if she calls me with any more advice or warnings I will smother myself with my pregnancy pillow. I live in an area highly populated by students as opposed to wildlife. If we did have any 'Urban Foxes' in our area they would be more likely to make the front page after they were found wearing a traffic cone on their head, tied to a lamp post. 

I had my usual midwife appointment yesterday - an appointment I never thought I would have to go to. I imagined I would be too busy at home with my new baby. Alas, I was not. I waddled through the hazardous snow to the doctors and announced I was there for the midwife. The Receptionist checked my name on the computer, tilted her head to the side, squinted patronisingly and mouthed, for what seems like the 100th time, 

"Do you have your sample dear?" 

"YES!" I said. 

Honestly,  you forget it ONE TIME and they never let it go. 

The rest of the queue were left to uncomfortably wonder what bodily fluid my sample could be. 

The midwife very often has a 'student' in with her who I have not met before. A new student was there to greet me yesterday while my midwife went to the toilet (I bet she doesn't have to pee into a tiny test tube). It turns out I had peed into a red tube and not a white tube and this wasn't correct (I pick the tubes up from the front desk every time so not strictly my fault). 

"From now on when you come, try to use the white tubes" the student said.

"Whoa Nelly!" I said "From now on? This is my last time love, I WON'T BE BACK!" 

I have had my fill of filling up minuscule tubes with urine. 

I have had my fill of midwife appointments. 

I have had my fill of being pregnant. 

I was informed that it is perfectly normal to go overdue with your first baby and that in eight more days I would be offered a Sweep - if I wanted one. I am a bit confused about the inconsistencies regarding sweeps as I know of women in my area being given sweeps before their due date - and more than one for that matter. But I am not going to kick up a fuss. Particularly as, as I expected, a Sweep does not in any way relate to the loveable children's TV puppet. The only things they both have in common are that they involve hands being inserted at your base. And I expect I will make a few squeaks too. The procedure sounds like something more likely to be seen on "All Creatures Great and Small" as a Vet meanders towards you wearing a full arm's worth of surgical glove. "Mooo!" 

I have come up with a legitimate business idea. I am struggling to come up with an innovative and catchy name - but the basic premise is as follows.  

A service specifically designed for ladies who have gone over their due date (there must be thousands of us). You call a number and your representative turns up with various forms of entertainment for you to pass the time away. The representative should be able to perform manicures and pedicures which can be halted immediately should anything occur. They should be able to play board games with you, watch Sex and the City with you or just talk to you so you don't go insane. 

You should get a Krispy Kreme doughnut just for enquiring - as standard. The Krispy Kreme doughnut being the pregnant equivalent to a free Parker Pen. I would pay a high premium for this type of service at this point - because I am bored, frustrated and ready. 

My partner is being very supportive and says the baby is obviously very happy in the home I have created for him. I wouldn't want to come out either. The world is a scary place. Full of urban foxes. 

He also has a colleague (my partner, not the fox) who had to have her baby 'induced' - but nothing worked so she 'had' to have a Caesarean. He suggested this might not be the worst thing in the world - especially considering my anxiety. While I wouldn't be devastated if this happened, there is a sick side of me that wants to experience childbirth the natural way (with as many drugs as possible). I guess I feel I have got this far... 

It's a bit like losing your virginity. It might be awful - but at least afterwards you can say you've done it and you can join in the conversation. You can, at last, separate the complete Bullshit from the facts. 

"I did it Stace! And you were lying, they don't put it in your ear!" 

You see the Chicken Kiev was a metaphor for my baby...