How much do I love the Boy? More than words can express. It's not about flowers or funny stories or nice food or a clear credit rating. It's about his nearly supernatural ability to take care of business when I'm totally stressed out.

It's 5:15 in the morning, and we've been up since 4:30. Female Crazy Neighbour is having a screaming fit this morning. And I don't mean that she's in pain or she's having a nightmare or she's in the grip of a seizure. Well, I suppose that you could call it any one of those three and not be too far off.

See, the weather has cooled down quite a bit this week, and our apartment is balanced on the knife-edge between crisp and cold. I love it - I'm always a bit hot these days anyway thanks to the amazing Sprouticus - and I've been sleeping like a log for days and days. But FCN has a weak immune system and is prone to respiratory problems. (It's made worse by the fact that she has 5 cats and smokes cigarettes, but we won't even go there.) One of her pet peeves is what she calls "bad air." According to FCN, bad air issues from a number or sources: the front door opened for more than a minute, the crack lab supposedly operated by our former neighbours, the propane barbecue we supposedly kept in our apartment this summer, our constant smoking, and of course, our open windows. Sometimes bad air contains horrible smells that only she can detect. The consequences of bad air are similarly numerous. She's blamed bad air for everything from giving her bronchitis to killing one of her cats to turning the walls of her apartment black.

This morning she's been screaming "close your windows!!" over and over. I don't know about you, but I can think of better ways to be woken up on a Friday after a late night. Lots and lots of them. The Boy, as I mentioned in the first paragraph, has been taking care of business in admirable style, i.e. shutting the windows and fielding her phone calls. I am here to provide emotional support, and to remind him that she's more sick than anything else. The fact that her illness is mental rather than physical is immaterial. Uncomfortable, but immaterial.

Our late night was fabuloso, however, and almost worth this fiesta of crap. Yesterday was Little Spider's birthday, and since this is the year of the reoccurring character from my past, her celebration was populated by people with whom I was very good friends in highschool & have not seen since. I knew that King Matt would be there, as LS has recently struck up an friendly acquaintance with him. I knew that Mr. Shoreleave would probably be there, as she went out to his house for his birthday last week. (Which reminds me, there are a tonne of photos dating from his teenaged birthdays, all of which were taken by his mother and feature me chewing food with a distinct lack of grace. It was almost a tradition to get a "me, eating" photo. Appalling.) And I knew that Morgan and Coraline would be there, because they're fun-time girls.

What was really cool about the evening is that it didn't turn into a "remember when" night, which would've been cathartic in a way but ultimately sort of dull. I think this had to do with the fact that it's been 7 years since I had a real conversation with those boys, and there's a lot of living in between to talk about. We've all been moving and doing things, not just thinking about how great highschool was - and that saved the night from being a total memory wank.

Another cool thing about the evening was how completely, utterly comfortable I felt. Usually when I hang around old friends, I'm consumed by putting on a show. But it's really hard to put on a show when you're 7 months pregnant, teetotalling, non-smoking, exhausted from a day teaching highschool & in the presence of your husband (who can see through all your bullshit). I was also full of excellent fish & chips as a direct result of having no groceries and an insatiable craving for something hot & greasy. This meant that I spent a lot of time lounging on the couch, my Belly pushed out for all to admire. The girls all spent time rubbing, kissing & talking to Sprouticus as s/he stubbornly refused to kick & show off. There's a weird kind of happiness that comes from being utterly unfashionable as a result of creating another life. I loved it.

Finally, it was cool to have real conversations with the boys. King Matt spent a year in Wolfvegas, and we compared notes about our love of the East Coast. The good qualities that I remember in him have translated well to the man he became. I got much the same vibe from Mr. Shoreleave - last night he was just as kind as he used to be in 12^th Grade. It was like getting all the best from my past, with new layers of stories and character added in for good measure. Even the Boy, arguably the biggest outsider in the group, had a good time. Well, except for when I was complaining about my sex life with Alexi...but I told him that as I was driving home, he should drink until he forgot the conversation entirely. He approved of this suggestion.

Booty Call: Day 196 - Length: 27 cm crown to rump (36 cm head to toe). Weight: about 1300 gm or 3 lbs.