My very close friend sent me an email this morning, nobody uses the phone anymore. She suggested that I enrol my new baby in a gymnastics class as at her facility, they begin at three months of age. Sounds like another diversion from writing but what on earth was she thinking? I think if I had just the one child I might have considered it, even perhaps once I got my head around life with two, but Chloe or “car-seat baby” as I lovingly call her, will likely be seven before she gets involved in any extra-curricular activities if I want to leave time to have a bowel movement. For now, her gym consists of three minutes laying on her back swinging at a dangling mirror and a once pristine but now chewed up octopus who, technically, can’t even be called an octopus even though the body and shape would suggest it looks like one, it has only six legs instead of eight. Then back to the chair she goes to pop into the van (her second home) and pick someone up, drop someone off or wait in line at the Tim Horton’s drive-thru for my (fingers crossed) steeped tea with two milk.