No such luck. She's making the most of her time in here, much to my dismay. But if you've ever wondered what it sounds like when God speaks to you, I've got a story for you.
In my last post, I talked about waiting on God. I decided that this baby would come in God's time and I'd stop trying to fiddle with things. I told God, "I'm waiting for you! You've got her birthdate picked out, so I'm just going to trust you and stop trying to do things myself!"
I did. For about a day. Every time I thought about going into labor, I said to myself, "I'm waiting on you, God." And then I immediately became impatient again. What made me feel even more impatient was the information that my baby is measuring 41 weeks and is likely to be over nine pounds. I'm only 38 weeks along, technically, which means my baby is growing at warp speed. I've known for a while now that I just cook 'em fast, and that's fine—as long as they arrive in a timely manner.
And she isn't.
So last night, I tried my last-ditch old wives' tale: getting a pedicure. There's this place on the inside of your ankle that will start labor if you rub it. So I went to the nail salon and said, "You know that place that starts labor? Rub the heck out of it!" And he did. And I had contractions through the night.
And yet. No baby.
I also ran into a friend of mine last night who suggested something my doctor could do to get labor going that she had done when she was pregnant. I mentioned it to my husband, and he said, "Call the doctor! See if she can do it today!"
|...or a smackdown. Whatever you need to do.|
So when my husband called this morning and said, "Did you call the doctor?" I had to say, "Umm, I don't think I'm going to. I kinda told God I was going to wait for him, and then I tried to do it myself. Again. So I think I need to actually wait for God like I promised." My darling husband said, "Oh. Yeah. I get that. Then that's what you need to do."
I'm not going to lie; part of me is thinking, "Well, if I really do wait on him, he'll reward me by not making me wait long!" I'm trying to get rid of that nagging little thought, since I have no promise either way of how long this kid is going to take. And even if God decides the baby should arrive tonight, it's not necessarily a reward or punishment; it's probably what he had picked out all along.
So I'm waiting. On God. For reals this time. And I apologized to him for not waiting on him in the first place. Because that was rude. And kind of tricky.
What's your response when the Holy Spirit convicts you of something?