Unless of course the punctuality in question is related to the critter brewin’ inside a mama’s belly.

Karen put out a call last night to all those ladies that endured more than 40 weeks of pregnancy. Seems that Sam at Temporarily Me is clocking in at 6 days past her “due date,” which, when you are overdue becomes, “The great lie told to you by callus and incompetent medical professionals.”

The idea was to share some funny stories about futile attempts to smoke the baby out. I found that as I waited (twice) for labor to happen, while my due date shrank in the distance, that those around you who are not pregnant find no humor in nontraditional methods of helping baby along.

“I am going for acupuncture to see if we can get things going.”

“Ooooh, oh no, do you really think that’s wise?”

Ummm, yeah, the kid’s been in here for 41 weeks, you’d care enough to take a pot roast out, why not a baby?

“I’m thinking I’ll squirt a little Tabasco on up the old birth canal, coax her out with some heat.”

“Really? That’s sick. You might hurt it.”

Ok, first, you really think I want liquid fire in my lady parts? And second, “it” is a “her,” a baby, unless of course your “it” was referring to my body, in which case, thanks for your concern.

The reality is when you hit the last month, barring extreme home renovations, you are ready. No one really gets it. I tried everything but Castor oil, my desire to avoid diarrhea on the delivery table was the only thing stronger than my desire to have Avery and then Finley arrive.

Sometime today Sam will get a hand by way of an induction, unless of course her little one is like my Fin and the threat of being helped out gets her stubborn hackles up and she scoots herself out before they can administer the drugs.

Either way, let’s all wish Sam a swift delivery and a healthy baby. Today!