We are nine days away from D-Day, and as expected, time has slowed to a crawl. Mayhem is still holed up in her cave. None of my internal measurements have changed since last week. It seems that the only things making forward progress are the ever-expanding dome of my Pregnant Tummeh and the pinching ache in my groin. (My sore pelvis earned me an actual diagnosis at yesterday’s weekly OB meeting. Not that there’s anything to be done for it, other than ride it out and eventually give birth. Ah well.)

I can’t walk. That’s the worst of it. My grinding hipbones and straining ligaments have left me not quite bedridden, but still unable to cross the street (let alone commute to work) without a fresh burst of agony at each step, and then another, and another. DAMN. I’d entertained thoughts of laboring at home for awhile before we headed to the hospital, but this is ridiculous. The baby’s not due until next Saturday and I already want my epidural, NOW.

Twice so far this week I’ve had to work from home, thanks to my newfound Mobility Issues. Fortunately my job accommodates this. Unfortunately, time slows down even more when you’re isolated in a home office with no colleagues to talk to other than your pets, who sleep all day anyway. And the ordinary loneliness of telecommuting is even less fun when you can’t even get up and pace around the room.

One thoroughly positive development has emerged from this grumpy week, though: my longed-for, long-anticipated bathroom remodel is all but complete. The new countertop, sinks, and faucets have all been installed, the shower enclosure freshly siliconed, the drywall repaired. Some plumbing work remains to be done, but that’s scheduled for completion tomorrow, something I wish I could say about my own plumbing. So much for the labor-inducing effect of scheduling a remodel so close to my due date. Now I’m thinking that we probably have time to squeeze in a new paint job before the baby comes.

Nesting is rough when your mobility is constrained. I have a new empathy for people stuck on bedrest: it is crazing, this urge to get up and get around and Do Stuff, when you Just Can’t. You need to do laundry and load the dishwasher and change that lightbulb and get another crockpot of stew going for the freezer, but all of those things involve getting up off your duff, which is simply not an option today. Instead I’ve tried to quiet the urge by ordering bathroom hardware on eBay, hoping that, with time moving this slowly and all, my purchases will arrive before Mayhem does.

At least *her* mobility is unimpeded by any of her mommy’s aches and pains. At nearly thirty-nine weeks’ gestation Mayhem is still my fidgety widget, blithely doing yoga in there and periodically distending my Pregnant Tummeh with various upthrust limbs. Was that a leg or an arm? At this point, who can say? She’s having no trouble moving it, whatever it is. And good for her.

Castor oil induces labor, say the old wives’ tales. So does a combination of herbs called Blue and Black Cohosh. Eggplant, curry, pineapple, licorice, garlic, ginger, spicy food, sex; all of these have been alleged to Move Things Along. None has yet worked for me, but at this point, any movement is good movement.

Wish me movement. The sooner, the better.