Last night Dirk, the Boy, myself and the ghost of Stacy went to see Bella Morte play in the big purple building where we spend so much downtime. There were other bands on the bill, but we stuck to our table for this part of the evening, making jokes & drinking beer (well, the boys did at least). About 3 dozen of us crowded the stage when Bella Morte came on (I know; not much of a crowd), and I danced as much as I could bear through the ripening weight of the Sprout strapped to my insides. Even the Boy had a good time, as he too was impressed by the real charisma of the band. As much as I love Geoff Berner's drunken antics, there's something entirely reassuring about a straightedge band who takes the stage sober and leaves pumped up with crazy crowd energy.

We hung around to talk afterwards, and they were just as puppy-friendly as at C8. Andy was mightily amused that we would be bringing the Sprout to C10, but we assured him that the Sprout was entirely punkrock. It's true; I've never felt so much movement in public as I did last night. The Sprout was partying down there. Fun for all!

Between Neil Gaiman and Bella Morte, it was a good day for Sprout-blessing via pop culture.

This afternoon I tried my birthday yoga tape for the first time. It's a neat little workout with three levels of difficulty to match the trimesters. I find that I need to bounce between second and third trimester poses to really get a decent stretch, but that's to be expected: I'm only on the cusp of the 3rd right now, so there's bound to be muddiness and confusion. The accessories that came with the tape are exactly what I need to get myself back in the yoga game.

The Boy got interested despite himself, and did the last half of the tape with me despite his almost-legendary aversion to yoga. I think that if he comes to it in his own way, he feels much less pressure than if I'm standing over him, correcting his stretch. Thanks to Pixie, the three of us just might be ready for family yoga by the time the Sprout bursts onto the scene like a biological Vesuvius.

Another late birthday present this year was a CD of womb sounds from Nic. I laughed at first because, forgive my pettiness, he's a very unobservant person by nature and he always panics a little when it comes to gift-giving. I got to eat my churlishness with a spoon the first time we put on the CD. It's fantastic - kind of silly that they inserted a wordless chorus into the aural environment of the body, but incredibly soothing nonetheless. We keep putting it on, giggling, and then waking up a few hours later with no idea of how we got there.

On the slightly less sunshine-and-love side of Sproutlife, I think I'm developing sciatica. It's the only thing I've come across that can explain the reoccurring numbness in my right leg after I've been standing for a half-hour or more. Yesterday was a particularly bad day for this, what with the early morning shoot, the Neil Gaiman line and the punk/goth show late at night. Fortunately, it goes away if I rest the leg. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the Sprout's position - unless the Sprout's had her/his head on my right nerve for a solid week, which I sincerely doubt. That means that it's my pelvis, which is much less likely to shift around to suit my convenience.

The only bright side is that suddenly it'll be really easy to get a doctor's note if my principal starts complaining when I sit on my butt for half the period. Heh he heh.