The family is getting jittery, calling at least once a day to ask whether I'm in labour yet. My mum even rang three times before 10am this morning (before I'd even got out of bed!), because someone rang her before she could get to the phone and it made her worry that it might have been me.
My daily walks are getting shorter due to the bump discomfort, and my marathon DVD-watching sessions are more frequently interrupted by my awkward attempts to change positions - but there's been no other progress.
On the other hand, I'm not yet desperate enough to down a bottle of castor oil (ugh, yucky), coax the boy into labour-inducing sex (I'm feeling so unsexy right now) or order hot 'n' spicy food (I've gone off it).
Or maybe it's more subtle than that. Once Baby emerges into the outside world I can say goodbye to the luxury of sleeping through the night (albeit with massive snoring sessions and having to wake up just to turn over) and being responsible only for my own feeding and watering. Maybe my body is getting mixed signals from my subconscious and doesn't how to resolve them.
Maybe it's just as well that it's not all up to me.