So apart from idiots on the tracks meaning getting stuck in a line for the train for an hour and a half, and then stuck on the train for another half hour, I finally made it home for the rugby... There's something to be said being 8 1/2 months pregnant and trying to hail a cab with hundreds of others. Mr Taxi Driver, you're one brave man to say no to everyone but me. You do in fact rock.
Thanks to the three WICKED chicks who guarded my belly for me from the thousands of angry commuters at Britomart, and kept me smiling with their awesome songs. As much as i love the three of you, I'm afraid i just can't bring myself to name her Ursula in your honour.
Legs, it will be ok - I'm sure we will find you under all that swelling somewhere. One day...
It was worth the wait for the haka :)
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