In which I catch you up.

Mes amis, I have been neglecting you.  It has been...busy is the wrong word.  Full, maybe.

I went to see Robyn and Meredith and to pick Robyn's brain re: car seats and cribs, and to nibble on Meredith's fat baby arms.  Also, we had pulled pork.  Lucky for the arms.

I went to see my doctor and am still pregnant and appropriately fat, which counts as a successful visit in my books.

Anna came to visit and I picked HER brains re: post-maternity boobs, and we each bought a lovely blue-and-white-striped dress, which I will wear as a shirt.  One day I will do a post for you on my regular-clothes-as-maternity-clothes, because it's been working out well.

Also, I bought fat-pants.

They are comfortable like I can't even tell you.  And yet?  Most of me is still like Ugh, pants.  So I also bought leggings in a larger size, as to not have two waists.  Leggings-and-dresses feels very like the leggings-and-oversized-shirts of my childhood, only classier.

Have I mentioned that the family (boo and Darren, Matt and Gillian) all comes over for dinner on Thursdays?  And that company requires dessert?  Someone, possibly Amy Sedaris, compared raw ground beef to a woman putting on her stockings, i.e. it is the stage of the process that you should never let anyone see, because it taints the final product.  I feel that way about a lot of steps in food-making.  Like, no one needs to see the cinnamon buns when they are just a sheet of dough slathered in butter, with my hands all up in them (what.  You don't use your hands to spread the butter?).  Even seeing them at this stage is a bit deterring.

But there are about thirty seconds between them coming out of the oven and them being eaten, and those thirty seconds are required to frost them.  Besides, the lighting is bad then anyways.

Mum and I went to Target today.  I freaking love Target.  I have mostly been subsisting on non-maternity wear because maternity clothes are expENsive and also they come in sad colors and make me sad, unless they are LIZ LANGE FOR TARGET!  Target, why you no come to Canada?  You better re-make the hell out of those Zellerses you bought.

Also?  Someone bought teeny pink polka-dotted shoes.  I'm not going to name any names, but it sure wasn't me.  Yet.

We stopped at Five Guys Burgers on the way home, and somehow I missed the memo about the 'regular' burger being a double.

Mum got the 'little burger' in the background.  It was regular-burger-sized.  The fries were nothing to write home about

but the burgers tasted like being invited over by someone who is very good at bbq, and also has an enormous condiment-and-toppings table.  Also, my burger was, like, five dollars.

Now I am packing to go to Victoria for two weeks, and Joel is coming home tomorrow, and it is highly likely that I will nap between now and bedtime.