I got the news a few weeks back, when it was confirmed that She-Blob had basically rolled herself into a ball. So the answer to "Am I being punched, kicked or head-butted?" was a resounding YES.
What it all means is that unless She-Blob does some major acrobatics in the next few weeks, all my Learning to Breathe is for naught, as I will be more than likely getting a Cesarian. At least we know the pain killers will be good.
As appealing as resigning myself to anesthesia and surgery sounds, as a "responsible mother" I felt I should do all I can to encourage S-B to assume the proper position. As yelling "Move girl!" and "Flip!" at my stomache has had limited success (or a complete lack thereof, if you're a glass half-empty kinda person), and me trying to push her from the outside would be frowned upon by my physician, I needed to find other means of encouragement.
The internet suggested "visualizing" the child turning. Now I'm as spiritual as the next gal, but I suspect that would be about as effective as yelling at my abdomen has been. On the other hand, our neighbor, who is a doula, and about to pop out her own 5th kid had some advice on repositioning She-Blob. In a move that marries Downward Dog and Face Down, Ass Up, I stand on all fours, lowering my chest to the ground so that my hips are higher, and maintain that position for two 10-minute sessions a day, while gaining a new appreciation for all those off-color jokes about knee pads. It's about as comfortable as it is attractive, but claims a phenomenal, though completely undocumented, success rate.
Still, if positive thinking has anything to do with it, She-Blob will turn, dammit. My doctor, on the other hand, seemed less assured. At my last appointment, I shared my thoughts on the subject with him. "If you're waiting for her to turn on her own," he said, "don't hold your breath. See this?" He pointed to the sonogram. "That's her butt, and it's pretty wedged in there."
Image by ~Semi Sweet~ Computer needs repair again!
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