School and babies

Things are going well in the Steed household. David's finishing up his third week at Westminster and is really enjoying going there. Unfortunately, one of his classes has turned out to be a profound disappointment, and it's also unfortunately the class he was looking forward to the most. It's a 300-level political science class, "Contemporary Political Philosophy," and the teacher is the biggest flake I've ever heard of. He told the class the first day that he really "didn't feel like" having a midterm or a final, or really any assignments at all because he didn't want to grade them. Their only assignment (and grade, pretty much) is a term project. The class is held twice a week, so it should be longer than normal, but the professor "doesn't feel like" lecturing longer than an hour, so the class gets out early every day. Half of me thinks, "Great, easy A." The other half of me thinks, "We're paying $12,000 a semester to go to take classes from one of the flakiest teachers in North America?!" Suck it up, buttercup. We all have to do things we don't like. If you don't "feel like" grading papers and tests, maybe you shouldn't have "felt like" becoming a professor in the first place.

I'll stop ranting now. I blame the pregnancy hormones. This baby is turning into a convenient little scapegoat: "I'm sorry I can't go, I'm just too tired;" "Oh, thanks for carrying that for me, I just can't lift it;" "I need chocolate, David;" "It's not my fault I need a whole new wardrobe, David!" See? Wonderful. Extra naps, extra favors, extra clothes, and extra calories. Woo hoo! :)

In other baby news, I'm still waiting to feel anything. When we had the ultrasound, the technician told us that I have an anterior placenta, which is a fancy way of saying that it'll take me longer to feel the baby move because there are extra layers of stuff in front. I thought I might have felt a few jabs the other day (the baby obviously appreciates bacon potato soup), but I haven't felt anything since then. It's so frustrating to not know what's going on in there. I look forward to doctor's appointments every month to hear the heartbeat; it's the only time that I have proof there's something alive in there other than the fact that the number of clothes that fit me are rapidly shrinking. I guess if I'm growing, the baby is too.

Have a great weekend, everyone! David and I might bundle up and have a picnic tonight and then go to a free concert tomorrow to hear a band comprised of a 10 year-old, a 13 year-old, and a 17 year-old. Should be fun!