Okay, okay, one last thing about the stupid belt test before I promise to shut up about it:
Instructor: Okay guys, this is your first belt test, so it's okay if you're feeling a little nervous about it. Does anyone here feel a little scared?
Amy: (to self) ME! MEEEE! MEEEEEEEOMG.
Noah: (out loud, to entire room of students and parents) I'm not scared! I'm Harry Potter, and I'm brave!
HEY LOOK WHAT I CAN DO THIS IS PRETTY COOL TOO RIGHT WHATEVER KARATE.
Noah very generously gave Ezra his white belt to wear around the house, and even pieced his broken board back together so his brother could pretend to kick and punch it in half to his little jealous heart's content.
(Ezra would probably like me to document that 1) he already has near-perfect form on his front kick and is working very hard on the round house, 2) he only ever, ever kicks cookbooks. Which totally deserve it, frankly.)
My doctor's office called yesterday and left a message asking me to call them back, and I was seized with terror that oh shit, I probably failed my glucose test. Time for moar sugar drank partay!
But no, that was all fine. Another damn UTI. And another vote of confidence in the medical establishment, since I had to call the office back two times to inform them that the doctor had prescribed an antibiotic that I am deathly allergic to. Nope, can't take that one. Try again please. Nope, not that one either.
(Jeez, if only there was some kind of ACCESSIBLE RECORD OF MY ALLERGIES AND/OR OTHER PERTINENT HEALTH INFORMATION WRITTEN DOWN SOMEWHERE. Like on a health history form! On a chart! In a folder! Or hell, how about a fucking Post-It, maybe.)
(Prescription number three seems to be okay, since I've taken two pills and not yet died of hives. But you know I goddamn Googled that shit before I took any of it. What the HELL.)
I am 28 weeks along now. Third trimester. Things are getting real and slightly more uncomfortable and full of involuntary grunts and sighs and oh my God I can't get my shoes on oooffffs.
I have sorted through and organized three drawers, one closet and eaten an entire basketball:
(Don't laugh at my headscarf. That's my Organizin' Scarf, and it gets shit done, people.)