Induction...that's the question.

Alright.  So we're past due now, and here's the deal.

When I went past due with Samuel I felt a great deal of pressure to just have the baby already since my mother and my sister were coming down to help me after the birth, but could only be here for a very short and completely non-negotiable amount of time.  And so I agreed to an induction at 41 weeks, which turned out to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad thing.

Now my mother is here again to help with baby #2.  She's been here 1 week already, and can stay up until the 5th of May.  There is a leeetle bit of flexibility this time, but not really, and so every day that ticks by is another wasted day of having my mom here.  I don't need to tell you how incredibly helpful having her here after the baby was born would be, (not that she isn't helpful now, of course, my kitchen has never been cleaner) and instead of utilizing this help I'm sitting around, timing contractions that look like this:

3 min.
8 min.
1 min.
52 min.
3 min.

And handling all sorts of fun, completely unsolicited advice and fielding lots of ridiculous comments and way. too. much. physical contact.

So, is it any wonder that this coming Monday, when I am going in for my next OB appt., I'm starting to feel that old pressure to perform?  It isn't my mother who's making me feel this way, but ME.  I want her to meet her grand-daughter.  I want to know Samuel is safe and sound while I'm at the hospital.  I want to not have to rushrushrush to get discharged, rushrushrush to get a ride home and rushrushrush to figure out everything again on my own.  Again.  On my own.  Agaaaaaaain.

I have literally tried everything I can think of, excluding the truly unpleasant and clearly illogical induction options.  I've done them all.  In clear defiance of all generally accepted convention the contractions actually come much less frequently and with significantly less intensity when I move in any way.  Five weeks of contractions have equalled, um, essentially no progress physically, anything that is supposed to start labour has pretty much drawn it to a screeching halt, and every change I see alters the next day.

The next choice is a clear one:  do I go in to my appt. on Monday and agree to some professional assistance, or do I throw my hands up in the air, ignore logic, and muddle through the constant fights with the doctor, the constant questions and prying eyes of the population at large, and the lack of any help from family whatsoever in order to try for a zero-induction labour?

Clear choice, no clear answer.