Junebug is one stubborn lass. My ECV (external cephalic version – when they try to manually turn baby), was unsuccessful. And surprisingly painful! The midwife and obgyn at the hospital were both so lovely though. I felt pretty giddy and uncomfortable during the whole procedure and the doctor dabbed my head with a cool cloth and said, “Don’t worry dear, you don’t have to always be so heroic. Take a moment.”

The doctor also gave us one more brilliant offhand dwarfism comment to add to our fun repertoire. I am not being sarcastic when I say that. We LOVE this stuff:

We have from one of my grannies, “Well you know that my brother Alfred had very short arms when he was born.” (Note: Alfred’s arms are distinctly average in length, today)

From a fantastic friend of dad’s who has a farm, “Mate, we’ve heard about Cruz, whatever you need we’re here to help---we even have a f---king miniature pony!”

And now the Russian obgyn at Auckland hospital, “I am from the former USSR and they had a television show singing competition recently when a man who had the same condition as your baby won – he had the most beautiful voice.”

We recently met an incredible New Zealand mum, and her amazing 20-year old daughter who has a rare form of dwarfism, for a coffee. They told us all about their experiences and it was so great to be able to speak so freely and honestly. They were just brilliant. One thing they both told us was that you develop an incredible capacity for black humour about situations. So, these sorts of little soundbites just make our day.

After trying a few times to turn Junebug, the doctor proclaimed, “She is standing tall and proud, she won’t be moved!” and we all had a laugh.

This is a bit frustrating though, as it means that I’ll need to schedule a c-section, something we were trying to avoid if possible. But there’s still time for her to turn and the obgyn yesterday said they would try to schedule it as close to her due date as possible to give her plenty of time to keep cooking and try to get her little lungs to mature as much as possible.

At night I think she’s been trying to turn, but with her tiny little legs struggling to find the purchase to rotate her big old noggin, she ends up doing running man in my belly for a couple of hours while I try every awkward yoga pose I know to try to give her some more space. Think I’m going to try doing my best impression of a bobbing duck at the local pool this week to see if that helps her along.

In a funny way, thinking about labour and delivery is a nice mental blockade. We don’t have to think about what happens next, we can just pour our energy into focusing on bringing her into the world, first.

For now, I can’t shake The Byrds song ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’ from my mind (I prefer that lyrical arrangement than the original biblical passage it’s based on). It contains a lot of important messages to be reminded of:

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

...Unfortunately, it’s not a song that seems to get Junebug jumping—she’s still really into West African drumming tracks.