Man, do not ever have a birthday party for Vivi and say, “Hey, invite who you want” unless you are willing to pay the consequences. Trust me on this. Because it will hurt you. Granted it’s a good kind of pain, but Oh Lawdy!

Antipo was the first of the Nutters to show up, with the two magical kiddies in tow, one of whom (Kevin) had made us a cake, the other of whom (Pauline) was later viciously attacked by Vivi’s softball and my arnica spray—bless her heart. Now, I have to proclaim it to the world, Kevin is a mighty fine cook. We tucked his cake away for breakfast Sunday morning, and let’s just say it got slaughtered. It was yummy. And I mean three slices yummy. And yes Kevin dear, I’ll be sending your mummy the bill from the hospital trip for my diabetic coma.

Vivi and her gang of Parisian Expat Gangsta Girlfriends showed up shortly after and the hilarity didn’t stop for the rest of the weekend. Katia and Kylie Mac, Vivi, Antipo and I kicked all the Frenchies out of the house and laughed good deep belly laughs for the next what? 24 hours or so.

And I finally learned to let go of most things and relax. Usually during one of this shin-digs I have to be on top of everything, from positioning the platters in just the right way to controlling the cooking of the meat. This time: I. Let. Go. And it was fine. And I had a great time and actually got to talk to the people there (a first) and enjoy myself.

Of course, I was still dead at the end of the night, and I mean DEAD. Being pregnant is a good excuse, but I think the four days of preparation and cooking and all the other fun stuff caught up to me finally.

Sunday morning was full of more of the same, although we had the added benefit of the taping of The Podcast in my living/dining/guest bed-room. Lemme just say that my 15€ investment paid off well. (IKEA!!!I heart thee.) The casting about of pods is also a great way of getting out of doing any work, as by the time we were done lunch (leftovers) was ready and all we had to do was meander across the street and eat. Hurt me.

After the nine hours of kisses and good-byes and all, we took one look at all that was left and sighed a big “ah, fuck it” and went and took a nap. The Better Than Your Au Pair eventually did get up and clean everything. I would have helped but I was in Serious Pain.

Yep, baby MP3 (closest hint you’ll get as to her name) dropped last week and apparently has turned so she’s facing out my back. All her lovely kicks and stuff are going right into my kidneys. So in addition to the added fun of having all the weight of another probable nine-pounder sitting on my pelvis, I have the fun sensation of having gone 12 rounds with George Foreman.

Life is indeed grand!

But having said that, I did manage to sleep from 10 o’clock last night until 7:30 this morning without interruption. No Pee Call, no freaked out Muppet running into the room at 4 AM screaming that there are snakes in his bed (that was honestly the funniest thing the kid has ever done so we’ll let it pass), no Pooplette letting off steam in the wee hours either. Just good solid sleep.

And I feel a lot better. I just got to stop fighting with George because he’s kicking my ass. And as all good things are addictive, I think I’ll probably run back to bed here soon for another count and just let the ref keep going after ten. Sleep, it’s what’s for dinner!