My sister's come back to stay with us for the week. The first thing she said when she walked in the door--six months pregnant, still wearing heels, and carting a suitcase the size of, well, her--was, "all the neighbours will think my husband threw me out!"

He didn't. They're having their house painted and the maybe-baby might grow up smarter if her* mummy doesn't inhale paint fumes for the next four days. But it's been an experience to have her home again. Every night we argue about who's getting into the shower and when, and who gets to have their hair dryer on and when. My morning orchestra since puberty sounded like five shrieky, wound-up people taking turns with the one shower in the house. How I forgot that nasty music.

It's so nice to have her home. And the baby knocking around inside her too.

The italian word for today is doccia. It means shower.

Notes:
*her: Not that I'm jumping to conclusions. No one knows for sure, and Becky & Jeff (T-Baum) don't want to know 'till the day arrives, but Beck feels like it's a girl so I'll go with the mother's instinct. I'm still hedging my bets as far as my stockpiling efforts go. All the baby clothes I buy are in unisex colours.