Last night was the GOP fall dinner in the county, an event that brought back many memories. Not that the dinner itself was that memorable, this year or last (that would be contrary to the rules of political dinners).
On the way home from the fall dinner last year, we stopped at a drugstore and bought a pregnancy test. It was embarassing. (I don't know why it should be more embarassing than carrying a baby around--I guess it's the proximity of cause and effect at that point.) DOB tried to hand it off to me to pay for, but I couldn't do it because he hadn't put the credit card in my name yet.
The instructions said to take it at the first trip to the bathroom in the morning. This is a confusing instruction to a pregnant woman. The 1 a.m. trip? The 3 a.m. trip? The 5 a.m. trip? The 7 a.m. trip? I compromised on 3 a.m., because that was about as long as I could stand the suspense.
Here's what mystifies me: Last year, just suspecting I was pregnant, I felt free to consume as much food as I felt like at the dinner. This year, still the sole source of nourishment for a baby now hundreds of times larger, I felt constrained from going back for seconds.