Three days to go until D-Day.
I have had two stretch and sweeps, and nothing. Just some crappy Braxton Hicks and a whole lot of misplaced hope. My mother always said she wished I would have a daughter just like me, and I fear that may be the case. This little chicken is doing things in her own time.
These last few days have been absolute torture. When you combine the massive excitement of meeting our little girl, with the abject terror of impending labour, and then throw in all the outside influences and extenuating circumstances (of which there is an inordinate amount at the moment) it certainly makes for a testing and highly emotive time.