Not that we didn't have a fabulous time at the wedding. It had been far too long since we saw Protho, and seeing him take a wife was something neither Eric nor I would have missed for the world. To make a very long story short, the ceremony was beautiful, the bride was glowing (and only the few of us in the know would have even had a hint that she was expecting), and the reception lasted long into the evening with great dancing and great food. Even though I had promised Eric that this would be the one occasion that he could safely assume that he wouldn't feel any pressure from my end to dance, he steered me onto the dance floor anyway. (In case you were curious, yes, I can still foxtrot at eight months pregnant.)

And doesn't my loving husband clean up well? I love him in a tuxedo, and it's been way too long since I had the opportunity to see him in one. Music school spoiled me, I suppose; there was an opportunity at least a few times each year for him to sport a penguin suit. Funny, the number of musicians at this particular event; it almost reminded me of my own nuptials.

Laurie and her long-term boyfriend also came in for the celebration, so we had a mini-reunion at the same time. As we all ate breakfast together (minus the bride) on the morning of the wedding, Laurie remarked that even after all this time - about three years - apart, the group still fit together like the same old glove. Later, Eric disagreed to me; "Things have changed so much," he sighed in fond remembrance of the old college days.

"Yes, they've changed, but that's not what Laurie meant," I replied. "Maybe the analogy doesn't work so well. We still fit together, but it's a completely different glove. The old baseball mitt won't work anymore not that everybody's all grown up, but the bond is still there." And he agreed.

On a totally unrelated note, my stomach was rubbed more in the course of this weekend than during the entire previous course of the pregnancy. It's a darn good thing that I'm not particularly bothered by physical contact; perhaps the fact that these were all close friends made the largest difference. Eric kept inviting people to touch my newly protruding belly button, which I did not welcome nearly so much; it tickles!

You know, I probably would be feeling a good deal more patience and sympathy for them if they weren't getting so aggravated with me for having to wait their turn, as if it's somehow my fault that all the other people are having the same problems that they are.

Anyway, this has also been the day for term papers, projects, and research reports. Nobody here has had a chance to breathe all day long. On top of that, we at the children's desk are involved in a large grant project for a Special Education teacher at a local school; we were given an extensive list of titles and asked to check the ones that we own. Not a huge problem, really, had we been given authors for the bulk of the books. Ack! I don't think the teacher realized just how many children's books go by the title Colors or Going to School.

But life moves on, and soon enough I won't be worrying about any of these little things. I've decided to let everything just roll right off my back with the mantra, "In seven weeks, you won't matter." Ah, blessed relief! If only all of life's problems has similar solutions.

Not only am I feeling the muscular evidence of the baby's steadily increasing mass, I'm also getting some pretty strong Braxton Hicks contractions every day. They don't hurt, and they provide me with tons of entertainment:

I got my diaper pail in the mail on Thursday and was thrilled to no end with it. Counting on the fact that I'm probably going to be too disorganized to do daily diaper washes, I went with a sizable pail that impressed even Eric. I also got a couple of washable pail liners so that I can just put everything through the machine at the same time.

I need to make a list of everything that we absolutely have to have on hand before the baby arrives. A diaper bag, for example, can probably wait, but I really need to get the child some undershirts for the time before the cord drops off. A package of disposables diapers for the meconium (early, tar-like baby poop) period would probably also come in handy, though I'm wavering on that...I mean, I know that the stuff will be unbelievably sticky and hard to wash out of my cloth diapers, but at the same time I'm really hedging on using any disposables at all. Perhaps some flushable liners might work as well and let me feel better. I've already tucked into my hat some good advice given to me by a friend: "Slather that little baby butt with olive oil for the first week, or you'll be practically chipping the meconium off their skin!" Words of experience, I trust.

The primary midwives think I'll birth pretty close to my due date. The back-up thinks I'll go a bit late. Perhaps it's time to start up a betting pool!