No thank you, on the baby bit.

It's been a while since I last posted, in part because I haven't fully recovered from having a 7-month-old Child to stay for four days.

OH. MY. GOD.

Although my parents have seemingly a hundred thousand children, it's been a while since I was up close and personal with a baby. Just long enough, apparently, that I had forgotten what all was involved, and two days before the Child arrived had messaged the DNB, "Am thinking babies are not so awful after all."

Misconception corrected. This Child needed constant tending-to! Someone had to stand by to be sure he wouldn't fall off the couch or eat a stray choking hazard! He needed food, then changing, then sleep in a never-ending cycle!

It was exhausting. And I wasn't even the one taking care of him.

Next Lesson: Marco Polo

I go swimming with the Bosnians!

My trainer and her friend have invited me to a local pool. Although the purpose is to work out (bleh), I hardly mind. The smell of chlorine wafts over the deck as we enter. I'm at home in the water.

Swimming brought the DNB and I together on our first date. We both swam competitively for years, and shared stories of carb binges, favorite strokes, and fastest times. Recently, Michael Phelps joined Bear Grylls as the second male to appear on both my and the DNB's Celebrity Freebie List (yeah, Phelps Phans Phorever).

The girls are totally unfamiliar with the water. Her friend, my trainer tells me, just learned how to swim to the bottom of the pool and glide along it. They both hold their noses.

Suddenly, I'm the expert.

I show them how to flip their hair back to make it look like George Washington's wig. I try, unsuccessfully, to teach them how to do handstands and somersaults. They don't know what a somersault is, and their legs flail mightily as they try to stand on their hands. We do laps, back and forth down the length of the pool. They watch me carefully, then ask if I can swim "female."

I know I'm not Graceful Like A Butterfly, but I had no idea my backstroke gave off such mannish vibes.

"Like a frog," my trainer explains.

"You mean breast stroke?" I ask, relieved that they didn't peg me as The Hulk of swimming.

"In my country, we call it female because only the girls swim it," she says. Interesting. "If a boy were to swim like that, everyone would laugh at him."

Neither of them know how to swim freestyle, because that stroke is "male." But they're in America now, so I teach them.

Baseball, Apple Pie, and Chips

I discuss a friend's clean lifestyle.

"Dude, you don't drink or smoke; you have no addictions. It's unreal," I say admiringly. "Do you have no vices?"

"Ohhh," he replies. "Oh I have vices."

"Like what?"

"Chips."

"Chips are not a vice."

"I can eat a whole bag in one sitting!" he exclaims.

"That is not a vice," I explain knowledgeably. "That's the American Way."

Regrets

My friend overdosed last week.

She was addicted to pills; a week out of her second stint in rehab. Before she went the first time, we hung out together on a few occasions. "I'm always home," she would tell me as we said goodbye. "Come over anytime!" But I didn't.

As she lay unconscious in the ICU, I picked up her children from daycare. We played on the floor of their home until her oldest looked at me and asked for his Mommy. Then I scooped him up to sit close and read The Big Red Barn. I didn't know what to feed him. Can a two-year-old eat regular food? Can he go up and down the stairs by himself? I've forgotten.

Her heart stopped, and was started again.

When I saw her, she had finally regained consciousness. She still couldn't breathe on her own, and a tube stretched down her throat to keep her alive. Her lips were dry; her arms in restraints. She looked at me with big doe eyes that rolled back into her head, and I wasn't sure whether she recognized me or not. As I spoke to her, she writhed in discomfort, and for a moment she reminded me of a baby animal.

"Get better," I pleaded as I said goodbye.

Couple Friends

If you thought you were done dating when you become part of a Couple, you're wrong. Because after the initial shenanigans are over and he's seen you without your makeup and she's smelled your raunchiest fart - just as you're getting comfortable being part of a Couple - you have to start looking for Couple Friends.

Couple Friends are important because Then No One Gets Left Out. Which, hypothetically speaking, means that I won't get a text every fifteen minutes from the DNB asking when I'm coming home from hanging out with my girlfriends because although he thought he would enjoy all that alone time he just ended up lonely, and could I also pick up Taco Bell for him on my way home.

The most difficult part about finding Couple Friends is that you and your significant other must both like your counterparts. If the girls click while the dudes don't, it's not the Couple for you. So then you keep looking, cautiously initiating dinner out or a trip to the local art festival. Then maybe you move things to a more personal level, like a barbecue at home and a few glasses of wine.

A few dates in, and you'll know whether they're the Couple Friends for you. You'll just know. But do they know how perfect you are for each other?

"She said, 'We'll see you soon,' did that mean they want to hang out with us again?" I ask the DNB.

"I don't know, I think so. Do you think they liked the food?" he wonders.

"I'm sure they did. How could they not? It was wonderful. The whole night was wonderful. We were wonderful!" I affirm.

"We were pretty wonderful. I tried to be funny. Was I funny or did it just seem like I was trying too hard to be funny?" he asks, worried.

"I thought you were hysterical," I tell him. "Should we call them? Let's call them. Is it too soon to call them?"