"They" always say that a woman's pregnancies will be similar to her mother's, sister's and the other women in her family. "They" also say that the question of when you might go into labor is also genetic. These truths I know: my mother went into labor with me on her actual due date. She went into labor with M three days late. Her sister (my Aunt M) went into labor at 41 weeks with her first child. Her other sister (my Aunt P) went into labor also at 41 weeks with her first and only. Maternally, I am screwed. It sounds like we are looking at a Valentine's baby. Although I love a good doilie heart and a bouquet of roses, the idea of another month of pregnancy does not send my heart a-flutter.
Looking for better news, I checked with my dad. He only has one sister. Turns out she went into labor at 32 weeks with both of her children. Sadly, this was not the news I was looking for, for following reasons: a.) Her babies were fine, but they were considered premature and they were an emergency, which I would not wish on anyone AND b.) I am already close to 38 weeks--6 weeks past that point.
I have solicited tips, both from Dr. Google and from my friends who did not go over due. One friend advised eggplant. Tried that last Sun. No luck yet. Another friend who went to 38 weeks (hello, lover) said eggplant does not work, but that she went into labor after a hike. Well, I am still walking 4 miles a day and I got nuthin.'
When I was 14, I got my period five years later than all my friends and thought that evey stain, every droplet was finally her arrival. My mother considered taking me to the shrink when I was running downstairs at least daily, underwear or jeans in hand (stains on the ankle or knee--it did not matter), asking 'is this what it looks like????' 15 years later, I am in the same spot. This morning, there was a little droplet of water on my pajama bottoms. For a moment I was thrilled. This is it! My water broke! Upon closer inspection, it seemed the water from the sink had dripped onto my pants. Just one droplet. Yeah. I am guessing that is not what it looks like, or, as my mother finally told me: I promise you will know it when you see it. And I did.
The one story I like best is that of my cousin (K) who is my mother's brother's daughter. At 39 weeks, she simply went into labor. No extreme methods. No eggplant, although, let's face it a little eggplant parmesan is not exactly torture. Her son arrived after an intense, but non-marathon, labor. I am hoping those are the genes I can count on.