Okay, yesterday just sucked. I couldn't go an hour without some sort of conflict or difficulty getting in my way. Every member of my family yelled at me: my father because he misplaced his keys, my brother because he misunderstood my requests for the television, and my mother because my dress was "too short" for public wear. By the time I got in the car & hurtled down the highways to Toronto, I was a raving mess. Poor Sprout was agitated all day, and the knowledge that my misery created some for the Sprout made me feel even worse. It took a good three hours of hogging a booth in the Garden with Dirk before I began to feel even remotely human. Today was much better - less yelling for one thing, although I'm going home to the lunatic asylum this evening so we'll keep that particular tally open until midnight.

I can still dance, by the way. I just tire rapidly and have to visit the bathroom every two songs. The horns of my dilemma are that I only want to dance to bouncy punky rock & industrial, and to do such music justice I end up feeling sore through my back, my Belly, my legs, etc.

Oh well. It's not like I get around very much anymore. Once a month is certainly not going to cause much of a problem - and it's not going to send me into premature labour. (Can you imagine giving birth on a table in a grotty goth bar?? Especially the Garden, where the dirt is legendary. Ewww.)

My prenatal class on Thursday went really, really well. I still didn't get to know anyone very well, but I was much more comfortable with the people & the instructors. It was, by the way, the same midwife as last time - the scheduled instructor was at a birth, and even our instructor-midwife was called away for a birth halfway through the class. For some reason, I found her teaching style compelling and informative this time around. Weird.

This week I learned that crowning babies look a whole lot like avocados.

We also voted that night, so not only do we have complaining rights for the next 5 years, but we can also strut around with pride for the next few days.

The Boy: "Who did you vote for?"
Me: "Not telling. I don't share your name and I'm not sharing your vote."
TB: "I voted Green."
Me: "No, your pants are green."
TB: "That's what I meant."

This cram of activities meant that we had no time to eat before class - so we did the shameful thing and went to McDonalds. We eat there maybe once every 3 or 4 months, and it's usually a desperation thing. (In Flint, we couldn't afford anything on the menu! Beyond desperation...) We ate as fast as we could and left the bag in the car. I just couldn't face the other mamas, whom I imagine are all perfect nutritional eaters. And the Boy was just embarrassed.

I should go; I'm cooking dinner for the family tonight - and I'm trying out a new recipe. This should be a scream.

Booty Call: Day 212 - Baby is able to hear sound and is getting accustomed to family voices.

5 years ago today: utterly glam girlfriend outing