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Thank God That’s Not Me, I Mean Congratulations!

We left the kids with my mom and squealed off into the sunset. Did I say sunset? I meant the incredible traffic jam waiting to get into the Ontario Place parking lot for the Lady Antebellum  concert. It was insane and made all the more maddening by the fact that we weren’t even going to the concert. We were going to a wedding and, dammit, this was supposed to be the one wedding we actually made in time for the ceremony.

(That hour long Catholic mass that proceeded our wedding ceremony? A late comers dream. Your welcome.)

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The only photographic evidence of my night out: a picture I sent to my sister wondering if the shoes go with the dress. Still waiting on the answer.

We eventually made it up to the roof of Atlantis in time to catch the better part of a lovely wedding ceremony, Lake Ontario and the relics of Ontario Place in the background and the Toronto skyline soaring above it all. All of this was set to the sweet strains of Lady Antebellum’s opening act covering Zeppelin. Ah, serendipity. Or something.

The point is that it was a lovely wedding filled with lovely people. Some of those people were even aglow with the shiny dew of pregnancy, swollen feet barely contained by practical flats, sipping soda water, steering clear of the sushi and wondering when they might be able to escape to their beds. Oh, the miracle of new life. Thank god that’s not me, I thought.

One woman even had her four month old with her, snuggled up against her chest for hours on end. Being jiggled and wriggled and bounced in his stroller. Being passed around and swaddled and paced with and still, he did not sleep. Thank god that’s not me.

My youngest baby is nine months old which means I can finally go out for an evening without worrying about leaky breasts. I can enjoy a couple drinks and can start working toward staying in the same dress size for more than a few months. If ever there were any doubt that three is plenty of kids for us (and there have been fleeting moments of lunacy, it’s true), then Saturday night has put them to rest.

Are you having a baby? Good for you. But I think I’m done.