Erin: A Little Littler

Apparently, relaxing at the house is for loser pregnant women. Erin was so bored from hanging around the loft that she got the Stir-Crazy moodlet. Bronson had been asked to dance at a local club for four hours to promote it (remember when Erin had that same opportunity?) and Erin tagged along.

They managed to get down for about two and a half hours before the pains started.

Erin wheezed and huffed and groaned. I told her to go to the hospital. She wouldn't. I told her again. Nope. I told her so many times that I thought my mouse-button-clicking thumb was going to fall off. She absolutely refused. Then I told her to go home. She was willing to do that until the owner of the club announced that they were closing.

For some reason, if you are in a club and decide to go home, you should do that before the club closes, because they will announce that they are closing, and the "Go Home" action will disappear from your queue, replaced by a "Go Out" action (as in, go out of the building). And then you have to wait about seven hundred million years for the elevator to come so everyone can leave.

By the time Erin got to the hospital, her energy, hunger, and hygiene bars were all in the red. She was smelly, starving, and ready to pass out from exhaustion. But Poindexter Littler was born, and since the pregnancy up till then had gone really well, I got to choose his traits, neither of which I remember.

She got him home, walked up to the new nursery I'd built, put him in the crib, and decided to pass out. (Bronson had been home for a while - he didn't go to the hospital with her.) But see, she couldn't just pass out in the nursery. She had to walk out of the nursery, past her own bed, into the hall, into the !#@#%% elevator, and down into the lobby. Then she passed out on the floor.

You might think that when she got up, she went back upstairs, got in her bed, and went to sleep. Nope. Instead, she went back upstairs, decided to pass out again, went back downstairs, and passed out. I was heartily sick of this nonsense.

I evicted them.

That's right, I evicted two new parents with their newborn baby. They lost all of their furniture and Erin's Sims Choice Award. I. Did. Not. Care. I moved them into a house in the suburbs, in which they will never have to battle elevators ever, ever, ever again.

So there.

Oh, here's a shot of the littlest Littler!